Sleeping Beauty
by Autumn2005
Summary: When Buffy suffers from a wasting illness, Spike is the only one that can cure her. Post-Chosen, Complete, Spuffy!
1. In Which Buffy Falls Ill (And the

**A/N: Hi! This is my first Spuffy story, so I hope no one is too out of character. It is completed, I'm just posting the chapters every three days or so. There are a total of five chapters, so this story isn't terribly long. I'm also posting the same story at the Spuffy fansite Elysian Fields, so if you see it duplicated there, don't freak, it's still me!  
**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Ya reckon?**

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 **Part 1: In Which Buffy Falls Ill (And the Scoobies Come Back)**

Part 1: In Which Buffy Falls Ill (And the Scoobies Come Back)

"I love you."

"No, you don't. But thanks for saying it. Now go!"

She ran, and that told Spike all he needed to know. Because Buffy? She didn't run from the ones she loved. No matter how they treated her, judged her, tried to end the world, she stayed by them to the very end. They might leave her, but she never left them. And she had left him. He grimaced and pulled it into a wild grin.

"I wanna see how it ends."

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It had been a month since Sunnydale, and Buffy was still having the same dream. The dream where she saved him. The dream where he ran out behind her, or she went back after it was done and found him. The dream where the PTB sent him back like they had sent Angel back, or how Willow or some vengeance demon granted her wish and he was back. Maybe he was broken, maybe he was scarred, but she didn't care because she loved him. She loved him and she took care of him, let him have her blood if it was what he needed, let him have all of her. Every night she saved him.

But she hadn't, not really. She woke alone and she cried useless buckets of salt, because he hadn't believed her. She should have stayed, should have made him believe her when she said she loved him. But she didn't. She didn't, and he didn't believe, and now he was gone, and he would never believe, and she would never… love like that again. Why hadn't she gone back for him? Why hadn't she knocked him out and dragged him with her? Because he didn't believe her. If he didn't believe her when he was doing this incredible, selfless thing, saving them all, how could she ever make him believe? She thought, maybe, he would be happier to save them. Happy to believe he was doing something _good_ , because he was. But she was wrong and now he was _gone_.

The others thought she was just having regular nightmares. They all had those. Life on the Hellmouth wasn't pretty, and they had years of bad memories to haunt them. Xander was also hit pretty hard with the nightmares. She could guess why. Sometimes they shared a _look_ , one of mutual pain and understanding. Maybe he wasn't happy about the reason why they were both grieving, but he knew how it felt to lose someone in the Hellmouth. Willow was sympathetic, but her loss was older, and she had Kennedy now.

They had all lost everything in Hellmouth.

It took Buffy six months to get back to a semblance of a normal life. Or at least as normal as things got for the Slayer. Yes, _the_ Slayer, because even though there were now a couple thousand Slayers world-wide, and a couple hundred stationed at the new Council chambers in Cleveland, she was still the oldest, the first, the best. She tried to pass the mantle on to Faith, but surprisingly Faith didn't want to be the one in charge. She wasn't much for institutions anyway. Now Faith and Robin were off somewhere, rounding up baby Slayers and sending them to Cleveland.

Buffy was the one stuck in Cleveland. At least the new Council chambers weren't set up directly _over_ the Hellmouth there. And frankly compared to the Sunnydale Hellmouth, the Cleveland one was kind of… weak. Not nearly as big, not nearly as strong, didn't attract nearly as much trouble. Barely more than any large city would on its own.

Buffy adamantly refused to patrol anymore. She was _done_. Slaying had taken everything from her, and all she wanted to do was enjoy what little she had left.

 _"Can—can we rest now? Buffy… can we rest?"_

She never understood those words more than now, the first few months of being here, with the Watchers making demands of her, the new Slayers looking up to her, everyone asking her what was to be done. Giles finally interceded on her behalf. It was just as well, because she had been fairly seriously committing a bit of Watcher-icide at that point. The one retirement for a Slayer was six feet deep in a pinewood box. Oops, sorry, she tried that before. It didn't stick. Twice.

As a compromise, the Council would no longer require her to go patrolling. Not unless she felt like a good "spot o' violence" before bed. However, she lived in the Council chambers, and she trained the new Slayers that came in. She tried not to learn their names, but sometimes they crept in without her permission.

Still, it wasn't a bad life. She had free room and board at the Council chambers, and they even paid her a decent stipend that was a couple bucks above minimum wage, so she wasn't hurting for money for once.

It just seemed so… hollow. She wasn't close to anyone. The other Scoobies drifted off one by one to their own pursuits. Sure, they stopped by on occasion, and they got together for a reunion, but only Dawn and Giles lived on campus. Dawn had her own life too, training as one of the new Watchers. Sometimes Buffy had a sneaking suspicion that Dawn was hoping to replace Giles as her Watcher when he retired. As if. Giles was still technically her Watcher, but he was also head of the Council in Cleveland, and the main liaison between the US chapter of Watchers and the English one. She didn't see him or Dawn more than she had to, and that was actually alright with her.

The new Slayers had more trainers than just Buffy, of course. They had a full complement of tutors for those Slayers still young enough to be in school, as well as trainers in whatever fighting or mystical art a young Slayer could desire. Several had trained as medical professionals at their small, on-campus hospital. These days Slayers were _diversifying_.

One of the tutors was this guy versed in survival skills, the entire, live-off-the-grid and survive-on-nothing-but-berries-and-rabbits-for-years-at-a-time kind of package. He was a couple years older than Buffy, and cute in a way that reminded her of no one else. Which was good, because the entire reminding thing? Very bad for Slayer frame of mind. And he was interested in Buffy. He was nice enough she supposed, but she wasn't interested in anyone else. She still hurt inside, and she wasn't sure it was ever going to go away. He wasn't pushy, which was also nice.

She sat in a couple of his classes, though she wasn't about to go starting fires with flint and steel when she had Spike's lighter. She could almost think _his_ name now without shattering into a million pieces. Idly she wondered if something was wrong with her, because even Xander was moving on in her grief process, and she… wasn't.

That was what finally convinced her to ask Todd out. She had nervous butterflies in her stomach from the moment she talked to him. She wasn't sure they were the good butterflies either. Dawn found out and was deeply excited for her. Buffy convinced herself that the butterflies were a natural part of getting back on the horse, so to speak.

Todd came and they went out for drinks. It was a fairly neutral activity, one that could be a date and one that could be a drink between co-workers. She was grateful for the non-pressure, because the butterflies had morphed into gymnastic rabbits that were vigorously jouncing her insides. She hoped she wasn't coming down with something.

Unfortunately, the longer they sat and talked, the worse she began to feel. Maybe something at lunch hadn't agreed with her? Todd reached over and brushed her hand, and she swallowed hard as her stomach flipped. Not in a happy way, but in a please-God-don't-let-me-hurl way. He sensed that something was wrong with her, and offered to take her back. She agreed quickly, offering a half-sincere apology for the way things turned out. Mostly she just wanted it to be over.

He drove her back to the Council compound—between all the sleeping quarters, training rooms, and class rooms, it was as big as some college campuses—and walked her to her building. It was nice of him, but she was seriously thinking she was going to be sick, so she really wanted to avoid him.

"Goodnight, Buffy," he said, and took hold of her hand to kiss it.

She tasted bile in the back of her throat, and ran past him into the building. She barely made it to the public toilets in time to vomit everything she ever ate. Thankfully, Todd hadn't followed her. She stayed on her knees, worshiping the porcelain god for a few minutes until her stomach settled. Thankfully, like most cases of relatively mild food poisoning, she felt much better after throwing up, and soon she was able to go back to her room with only a couple mild twinges from her stomach.

She felt guilty that the date with Todd had ended so poorly, and thought about calling him back to apologize, or even ask him out again. The last remaining rabbit in her stomach gave a particularly violent kick at the notion, and she decided it was better to simply lay down and rest for a while. Maybe she wasn't ready to start dating again. In her heart, she was still Spike's girl. With that thought she jumped to her feet in frantic haste.

She pulled out her keepsake drawer, fumbling under the crosses, holy water and stakes until she found what she was looking for. Two objects, one a shiny zippo lighter, the other a battered skull ring. She sat heavily on her bed, holding them. One slipped onto her left ring finger, the other nestled securely in her other palm. She tried to feel his presence, some hint that though he was _dead_ , he wasn't _gone_.

There was nothing.

Bitter tears fell from her eyes as she curled up on her bed, not for the first time crying over a dead man.

After that day, she began to notice something. The bruises she got while training the Slayers would normally be gone the next morning, but they began to linger. She didn't think too much of it, because by lunch time they had faded. Maybe the young Slayers were hitting harder than usual, that's all. Perhaps that was also why she was feeling stiff in the mornings. She felt a pain in her back that didn't used to be there. Oh well, normal wear and tear, right? It had to catch up to her sometime.

But she was a Slayer, _the_ Slayer, and she didn't get wear and tear. Only now, apparently, she did. While practicing kicks she felt a pain in her knee. It went away after a couple days, but came back when she was walking down the stairs. This time it didn't go away. It was soon joined by pain in her other knee. The morning stiffness in her back spread to her hips as well. Her joints began to ache, especially in the cold. Her hands were particularly sore, and sometimes—rarely—she fumbled when she was reaching for a stake.

She got weirdly winded when she was training with the Slayers. Her punches didn't hit as hard. She tried to deny it as long as possible. She tried to tell herself it was nothing. Nothing was wrong, she wasn't slowing down, no way. If she was, well, it was only natural, considering she was the oldest Slayer. Of course, she never expected she would live long enough to worry about signs of aging. Even with Slayers all over the world, she hadn't thought about it. She also hadn't thought she'd be showing age at the ripe old age of 23 either.

She freaked out when her hair started turning white. It wasn't like an old horror movie, where the hair literally changed color overnight. No, this was more like her natural blond color was a dye job that had grown out. Her roots were growing in white. In a panic, she bought a bottle of hair dye and spent all morning coloring her hair with the noxious chemicals. The dye she got didn't match her original color exactly, and there was a faint difference between where her hair was blond and where it was white before the dye job. It stood out like a neon sign to her, but no one else commented on it.

She wondered if her Slayer-ness was diluted because there were so many Slayers now, but none of the other baby Slayers seemed to be prematurely aging. She phoned Faith to see if the other original Slayer was feeling the same thing, but Faith was her usual brand of flippant insouciance.

So that left Buffy, feeling like she aged another year every day, desperately trying to hide the signs that something was wrong. Maybe Slayers did have an expiration date after all. Only, it wasn't an expiration by death, it was because they… simply stopped being Slayers. But it didn't _feel_ like that to Buffy. It wasn't like on her 18th birthday when the Council tried to kill her. She was still a Slayer. She was still stronger than a grown man, if not quite vampire-strong anymore. She still felt the tinglies on the back of her neck when a vampire passed by. It just felt… lackluster.

She was actively avoiding Dawn and Giles now. Something was wrong with her, but she didn't want to go to them. This felt like a Buffy-crisis, not an Apocalypse-crisis. She'd almost weep for the chance to have one of those again. But Buffy was getting worse, not better. She stopped sparring with the girls and instead took on a more supervisory role, pitting them against each other. She took to running patrols secretly, just to prove that she still _could_. That went to the Hellmouth in a handbasket one night when a vampire almost caught her. If not for the two Slayers passing by, she _would_ have died. She barely got away with pretending it was a training exercise for the girls.

She wondered if this was Spike's death wish catching up to her finally. As much as she wanted to vehemently deny it… she couldn't. Maybe she did have a little bit of one. She was so _tired_ , and _Spike_ was gone, and everyone still _needed_ her for _everything_ , and she didn't know what was happening, and… It was hard to pull herself back from a full hysterical fit. She took deep, calming breaths, trying to push away the claustrophobic feeling in her chest.

Speaking of which, her heart and lungs were going out like the rest of her. She had a tight feeling in her chest when she ran more than a block, and she developed a hacking cough if she didn't slow down. Her heart began pounding wildly when she went up a flight of stairs, and she had to rest for twenty minutes before it went back to normal.

Todd tried to ask her out again, but she felt a surge of nausea at the request. She turned him down hastily and fled the scene. Thankfully she didn't actually get sick again, and a few deep breaths later, she was feeling better. It was probably residual association, she decided. She had been sick that one time when she went out with him, and now he always reminded her of being ill. Never mind that the thought of dating in general also made her want to hurl.

She might have continued to hide her symptoms for another few weeks, except for a pesky virus that was going around the campus. It was nothing worse than a head cold, but it took out a quarter of the compound within the first week. One class after another was full of sniffling Slayers, with the predictable results that soon _everyone_ had been exposed to the cold. Watchers, Slayers, teachers and support staff alike filled the waste baskets with crumbled tissues and used tea bags.

When Buffy started sneezing, she felt the usual annoyance that just because she was a Slayer, she wasn't immune to the effects of illness. However, with her weakened system, her head cold quickly got far worse than it should have. It started with her sinuses and rapidly migrated to her chest. It felt like someone was sitting on her ribs. Every breath was an effort. Air crackled wetly in her lungs, and she was constantly coughing up plugs of yellow mucus. She made every effort to get out of bed and keep going, but the illness kicked her butt as easily as Glory had. That cheered her for a moment, because she had beaten Glory in the end. Sort of. Okay, it had led to the swan dive to Heaven, which then led to the hell of the next year of her life. Yeah, maybe not a good comparison after all.

Especially when she just couldn't seem to get over this cold. Some part of her knew this was more than a cold. It was more than bronchitis or pneumonia or whatever. It was one more symptom of her mysterious aging. But she was stubborn. She was stubborn, and she could kick this cold like she always did in the past. Sure, she had to take a few days off of teaching to get better, but practically everyone was taking time off right now. Stupid cold. And perhaps, a couple days didn't normally turn into a couple weeks, but sometimes these things happened. She wasn't eating because she didn't have the energy to go down to the cafeteria, and refused to call for help. She would beat this! She would…

It was Dawn who found her. Buffy woke to an insistent pounding on her door. "Go away!" she tried to croak, but found even that much exhausted her.

"Buffy, if you don't open this door right now, I'm going to get one of the Slayers to knock it down!" Dawn shouted.

Buffy snorted. _And I'll stake the first person through that door,_ she thought spitefully. Dawn continued to bang on her door for a few minutes, but eventually she fell silent.

 _Good_ , Buffy thought tiredly. _Maybe now I can get some rest…_ It was hard to sleep these days when breathing was difficult. She closed her eyes, for a minute or an hour, she didn't know. She woke again to the sound of jangling keys. Instead of getting a Slayer, Dawn must have convinced someone to open the locks for her.

 _No,_ Buffy panicked. _They can't see me like this!_ She tried to hide, but really, she wasn't even getting out of bed these days.

The door swung open and Dawn pushed herself inside. Her sister froze, staring at Buffy in horror. Buffy couldn't begin to imagine what she looked like.

"Buffy!" Dawn cried.

"Good Lord!" revealed Giles as the one behind the keys.

Buffy tried to smile. She was sure it looked ghastly. "No reason to worry, guys, it's just a cold. I'll be right in a couple of days," she said breezily. At least, that was what she meant to say. She opened her mouth, took a wheezing breath, and instead what came out was, "I need help."

They rushed her to the on campus hospital. Giles carried her part of the way until they ran into a Slayer to carry her. It was undignified to be carried by one of the students she taught, but her protests were unheeded. At the hospital they got her cleaned up and stuffed into a fresh bed. That part felt nice. She hadn't had the energy to shower for a couple weeks, and eww, it was getting bad in Buffyland. They hooked her up to IVs and heart monitors, and a blood pressure cuffed that was like getting her arm squeezed by a Fyarl demon every fifteen minutes. They prescribed her a hefty round of antibiotics, and she had to breathe in this mist that was supposed to stop her from coughing—or maybe make her cough the junk out, she wasn't sure which. They put a sticky sensor around her finger with yet another wire that led to the monitor. It had a red light at the end that kept her up at night and gave her the urge to say "ET, phone home," every time she saw it. They put a tube in her nose for oxygen, and scolded her when she took it out, even though it made her nose feel dry.

She snarled and snapped during every step of the way… but secretly she felt a lot better as her lungs cleared and she could breathe again. As the pneumonia cleared away, she was left with the effects of aging. For the first time, Dawn and Giles could see what was happening to her, and it wasn't pretty. Her roots had grown out again, and there was a half-inch of white hair showing. She had lost weight, not in a good, you-look-fit way, but in an anorexia-is-not-fun way. Her skin was sagging and wrinkled, and somehow thinner than before. The joints on her hands and feet were slightly swollen, though she could still use them like normal. Well, her new normal, anyway. She looked more like a woman of fifty than a girl of twenty-three.

It hurt that her sister and Watcher saw her like this. She smiled wanly and tried to act nonchalant. Dawn and Giles sat by her bedside, stunned by her appearance. The silence grew deafening, and Buffy had to break it.

"I think, uh, something is happening to me," she admitted in a quiet tone. It was so hard to ask for help, even now.

"You think, Buffy?" Dawn asked incredulously.

Buffy flinched.

"Dawn," Giles admonished gently. "We should try to help Buffy. Do you mind if I ask some questions?"

Buffy shifted restlessly on her hospital bed, but nodded. Giles retrieved a pad of paper, and began asking and jotting down her answers. It wasn't pleasant, detailing her declining health.

After a couple hours of questioning, Dawn finally ventured fearfully. "Buffy, what do you think is happening?"

"I think…" Buffy swallowed thickly and forced herself to voice her worst fear. "I think I'm no longer the Slayer." It was strange, once she would have relished that prospect, especially with so many other Slayers around to perform the sacred duty. Now that it was happening… it was just frightening.

Both Dawn and Giles protested sharply. Buffy pretended to believe their arguments, but the doubt was still in her mind. Giles left to research. Dawn lay on Buffy's bed. They talked about inconsequential things for a while, and then Buffy napped.

The next day began a round of testing, both mundane and magical. She had blood drawn, physical exams, her aura scanned, and her mental status evaluated. The results came back in a few days, and only increased her frustration. There was apparently nothing wrong with her. Other than the fact that her body was about thirty years older than it should have been. Nor was the aging process slowing down at all. Every day she got older, weaker, slower, and no one could tell her why.

Buffy hated being in the hospital, and bullied her way back into her room. Her body might be failing, but her mental status was as sharp as ever. However, less than two weeks later, she was forced to move to a ground floor apartment when she could no longer climb the stairs. She refused to give up her old rooms, and insisted this was only temporary. When she had a hard time walking across campus, Dawn and Giles forced her back into the hospital. There were still more tests to do. Buffy was beginning to feel like a lab rat with everything they forced her to do.

The human doctors prescribed her various medicines, which Dawn dutifully saw that she took. The healers gave her various potions to drink, which Giles all but forced down her throat. Nothing helped. Witches were called in, but they were at a loss to explain the sudden drain on her body.

The only good thing they learned was that Buffy was still definitely the Slayer. The thing which made her a Slayer still existed inside her, but for some unknown reason, it appeared to have gone dormant. Once they discovered that, many of Buffy's other symptoms began to make sense. Without Slayer healing, her body was basically reverting to pure human. She had sustained a lot of damage in her time, more than professional athletes and race car drivers. All those old injuries were catching up to her as her body failed to recuperate like it used to.

Willow was called, and Xander, Faith and Robin. They all came for her. Faith especially seemed wigged to see Buffy laid up to helplessly. She and Robin didn't stay long, but they promised to look for a cure when they left. Willow and Xander stayed. It was nice to have a girl's night with Willow and Dawn. They ate ice cream and commiserated with Willow on her breakup with Kennedy. For the first time in a long while, Buffy felt almost normal again. Willow joined the witches in searching for a way to wake Buffy's Slayer side again. Xander took on the role of comic relief and general go-getter.

It would have been nice to have the gang back together again, if it had been for any reason but for this. They searched the Watcher's journals, but there was no record of this happening to a Slayer before. Even the Cruciamentum on her birthday had not been as bad as this.

One by one, they began to exhaust their options. The human doctors threw their hands up first. The healers were next. The witches began to trickle off bit by bit, though Willow remained desperately focused. The group began to consult outside sources, oracles and others, without any sign of hope. Demons were brought in to examine Buffy. It was hard to tell who was jumpier: Buffy for being poked and prodded, the demons for being inside the Council chambers, or the two hundred-odd Slayers who were forced to let the demons come and go unharmed.

Buffy still griped about everything, but there was much less fire in her tone than before. She was acting the part, but it was simply a cover to hide the panic setting it. The gang took it in turns to boost her moral, but it was a losing battle. She had aged another ten years in that short time, and it didn't look like anything could slow it down. She was going to die of old age before she reached twenty-four, she thought hysterically.

Between the years of Slaying catching up to her, the regimen of pills and magics they had her on, and the constant tests and questions, she was exhausted all the time. Her joints were badly enflamed, making it difficult to grasp small objects like spoons and forks. Dawn helped her eat, but she felt ashamed for being so helpless. She joked that so long as she could still hold a stake she didn't care about anything else, but in private she despaired about losing that as well.

She had no privacy. She couldn't always control her bodily functions, and nurses were brought in to help clean her. Buffy flatly refused to let Dawn or the others help her in that matter. Dawn protested violently, until Giles explained that it wasn't about her not able to help. It was about Buffy trying to keep what dignity she had left. It was easier to let strangers wipe her butt than her little sister and best friends.

Buffy began to spend more time asleep than awake. The pain of her body had become unbearable to her when she was awake. The powerful medicines prescribed to her barely blunted the pain. They were so worried about her rapid decline that they put her in a magically induced coma in an effort to slow things down. It worked, but it couldn't halt the ravages to her body.

In the end, it was a kindly bracken demon healer that put them on the right path to helping Buffy. The old demon was gentle and matronly despite her fierce appearance. She peered at the unconscious Buffy, and held one of her hands—twisted beyond use by arthritis—for several long minutes before sighing and placing it down gently. The group was so used to disappointment at this time that no one bothered to look up when the bracken turned to them.

"I think I might have an idea of what is wrong with her," she said softly. It took nearly thirty seconds before Willow, Xander and Giles looked up. Dawn was watching Buffy, and never took her eyes from her sister.

"What is it?" Dawn asked in a dull voice.

"I've never heard of it happening to a human before," the bracken began apologetically, "but she has all the symptoms of pining."

"Pining?" Giles asked, hoping for anything he could look up in his books.

"It's something that happens to demons," she explained. "When demons love each other and claim one another as mates, it forms a bond of love between them. If something happens to one of them, or they are separated for a long period of time, they start to pine for each other. They—lose strength, don't heal as quick. Their powers are depressed. In essence, they are grieving for their missing mate."

A thick silence fell in the room. The air practically quivered with everything that went unsaid as everyone carefully didn't look at anyone else.

"I'm going to look this up in my books," Giles said, and abruptly departed.

The bracken looked uncertainly after him, and offered an apologetic, "I'm sorry," to the rest of the group.

"Buffy's not a demon," Xander said at last. "If this is a demon-y thing, how come it's affecting her?"

"My guess," the bracken said slowly, "Is that even though she is human, the part that makes her a Slayer is closely related enough to a demon for it to take place."

"Giles said it last year," Dawn muttered sullenly, "how the Slayer's power comes from demon essence."

"A-and after I… When she c-came back," Willow said nervously, "Spike's chip didn't recognize her anymore. Th-that must have been enough to let it happen."

There was a collective flinch from the group as she said the forbidden name.

"Wait a minute," Xander said almost angrily. "You said there has to be a claim? There was no claiming. Buffy never claimed anyone."

Dawn jumped and glared at him.

"Xander…" Willow cautioned.

"Actually, it doesn't have to be a formal claim," the bracken interjected softly. "It can be as simple as a declaration of love. All that really matters is that both demons fully love and accept each other as mates. In this case, her Slayer side must have chosen a demon, and he in turn loves her as well."

More silence. Willow shifted from foot to foot. Xander fidgeted in place. Dawn absently smoothed back Buffy's hair.

"What about a vampire?" Dawn asked the question no one else was willing to speak. "Can it be a vampire?"

"Yes, of course," the bracken said in surprise. "They have demons inside them, they are perfectly capable to forming that bond if they find a worthy mate."

"Well, h-how do we get her better?" Willow asked, trying to steer around the uncomfortable elephant in the room.

"It is simple. Reunite her with her mate. He will be pining for her as well; it is a mutual thing. It is a bond of love, not one meant to cause harm to each other."

"What if he's dead?" Dawn asked grimly.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. There isn't anything—I'm sorry." She looked around helplessly, then shifted for the door. "I think I should go now." No one stopped her from leaving.

Xander and Willow exchanged nervous glances. Dawn continued to watch Buffy.

"So this it, then," Dawn whispered bitterly.

"We don't know that!" Willow said quickly.

"You heard what she said!" Dawn snarled. "There's nothing for it! If we can't bring her mate back, she's going to die! So unless you're big with making a vampire undusty, this is it for her!"

Xander suddenly kicked a cheap plastic hospital chair in frustration, interrupting the argument. Both girls looked at him, but he was staring at the wall.

"Angel," he huffed, clenching his fists in anger.

"Angel?" Willow prompted when it didn't look like he was going to speak.

He rounded on the room, his single eye blazing. "Look, we know Buffy was never cozy with any demons, so it can't be them. But she was… involved with two vampires. Spike and Angel. You _know_ I never liked either one of them, but we got to save her. Spike is gone, so that means it's Angel. It's got to be. He was her great love match, right? So get him over here to _save_ her!"

Dawn and Willow gave him startled looks, but there was really no other option. Either Angel was able to cure Buffy's pining, or…

"Who's going to call him?" Dawn asked.

Xander immediately put his finger on his nose. Dawn followed a heartbeat later. They looked expectantly at Willow. She blinked, then suddenly understood. She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, real mature, guys," she muttered, but a hint of a smile hovered on her lips for a second. "Okay, fine! I guess I'll be… making a phone call." She wandered out of the room.

Dawn scowled at Xander. "You _know_ it's not going to work," she accused. "If anyone, her real mate is—"

"I don't know that, and neither do you!" he retorted defensively. He sighed suddenly, his shoulders slumping. "Dawnie… I know it's only a chance, and the chances are… not good. But it's all we have, don't you see that?"

Her face crumpled abruptly. "Oh God, Xander, what are we going to do?"

He stumbled forward and hugged her tightly. "I don't know, Dawnie. I don't know."


	2. In Which Angel Comes to Save the Day

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews! Here is the next part!**

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 **Part 2: In Which Angel Comes to Save the Day (And Realizes Spike Has to Do It)**

The phone rang and Angel answered it out of reflex. "Hello?"

"Angel?" It was a woman's voice, distressed and slightly familiar, though he couldn't place it.

"Yes?"

"It's Willow."

 _Willow_. Images of the former Sunnydale witch flooded his mind, as well the blond woman who often kept her company. He felt a mild pang in his heart.

"What's wrong? It is Buffy?" he asked urgently. There was silence on the phone except for the sound of the witch's breathing. An evil premonition stole over him. "Is she—?" The plastic phone creaked in his hand, threatening to break under his grip. Was she dead? Again? Was she going to come back this time? How did he feel about that?

"She's sick, Angel. W-we didn't know what was wrong with her for a long time, and then we found this bracken demon, and she said Buffy was pining. Do you know what that is, pining?"

A welter of emotion shot through him at the word, and it wasn't what he expected.

"Yeah, I know what it means." Buffy was pining? Why was Willow calling him? Did she think Buffy was pining over him? But if it was him, shouldn't it have begun before this? What about him? Was he pining? He gave his demon a mental poke to see how it reacted to the thought of Buffy pining. Angelus slapped him away with an annoyed growl. And if this meant that Buffy _was_ meant for him, what about the other woman he loved, the one currently in a coma and unlikely to wake? For that matter, _how_ had Buffy chosen _him_ when they couldn't…? So yes, he felt a lot when he heard the news. But most of what he felt was… confusion.

"You think I can help her," he said heavily.

Willow spouted off into one of her babbling tangents that she was liable to do when she was nervous. He tuned it out, his mind still focusing on Buffy, on Cordelia… and the blond vampire living in an apartment down the street from the Wolfram and Hart offices.

"I'll be there in a few hours," he said abruptly, and set the phone down. Despite his best efforts, the base broke in two.

Angel approached the Council campus when it got dark. For the last hour as he'd gotten nearer, the skin on the back of his neck crawled. There were _Slayers_ here. That was such an odd thought. Even though he knew there were Slayers all around the world now, in his mind there was only _one_ Slayer. Now though, he couldn't deny that jumpy feeling in his demon, sensing death concentrated in the buildings ahead. Angelus cowered and wanted to get the hell away from this dangerous place. Angel's demon had never been into Slayers, preferring to leave them alone. It was Spike who always sought them out…

He shoved the thought away. He hadn't come here for Spike. He didn't want to think about that bleached pain in his ass. Buffy was his, wasn't she? Willow had called for him, not for Spike. Never mind that the idiot had never told the Sunnydale crew he was still alive. Never mind that all he felt toward Buffy was a feeling of confusion, and a hint of guilt. Yes, guilt, because if he admitted it to himself, he didn't want to be here. He'd rather be in Los Angeles. He'd rather be by the side of a brunette than a blond.

Instead, he used a payphone to tell Willow that he'd arrived. There were two Slayers and a human woman—probably a Watcher—in the guard house. He could practically feel the Slayers fidgeting with their stakes, made as uneasy by the presence of a powerful vampire as he was by them. He'd done his best to turn down his presence, but he was nervous, so it was leaking through. The Slayers could feel him, he could feel them, it was all very uncomfortable.

The pedestrian gate opened and a familiar red-headed woman stepped out. Even before the scents of _witch_ and _Willow_ drifted to him he knew who it was. He emerged from the shadows across the street and started toward her. Adrenaline spiked in her blood, making Angelus's mouth water. Angel wished his demon was not quite so present. There was no hug from Willow, no happy greeting. He didn't expect one anyone.

"She's—it's this way," Willow said, and turned to lead him into the Slayer's den. Angelus was excited by the sight of her back fleeing from them. He came forward a little more, turning mere following into a stalk. Willow's witchy senses must have picked it up because her heart suddenly pounded. And Angelus felt the eyes of a couple dozen itchy Slayers fall on him. Suddenly it was more important to keep himself unstaked than to have a bit of fun with the witch. Angelus retreated, leaving Angel once more in control.

The smell of the hospital irritated him, as it always did. So much sickness and death in one place, it made Angelus drool. At the same time the humans tried to cover it with harsh chemicals that made his nose burn. And everywhere, absolutely _everywhere_ were damn Slayers. Hands twitched toward stakes when he passed by. Eyes stabbed at his heart, and if gazes were made of wood he'd have been dust. He felt like a cat in a dog kennel. Angelus was not used to feeling so vulnerable. He hated it.

They finally reached Buffy's room, and it only made him feel worse. Buffy was… old. Like a woman of seventy instead of twenty-something. Huh. He didn't remember how old she was supposed to be. The entire Scooby gang except for Giles was present. They looked up at him, expressions ranging from despair to anger to hope and bitterness. It was surprisingly hard to meet their eyes so he didn't. He stared at the old woman sleeping on the bed and tried to find Buffy in her.

He was vaguely aware of Xander and Willow leaving, and inviting Dawn along.

"I'm staying," she declared, sitting on the edge of Buffy's bed and glaring at him. They left her alone.

Buffy looked… wrinkled. There were deep lines around her eyes and mouth. Her cheeks dropped like a bloodhound. Her hair showed an inch of white at the roots, making her seem even older. He tried to see her beauty, and couldn't. She only looked frail. Like prey. Angelus scoffed in contempt at the waste of a human on the bed. Angel knew, without a doubt, that she wasn't his mate. There was almost no chance that he was her mate. But they expected him to try, didn't they?

He walked to the bed and sat gingerly in the stupid plastic chair they left for visitors. Buffy's hands were resting on top of the covers, but they didn't look like her hands. They were like a old crone's, twisted and joints swollen. In truth they gave even Angelus the creeps. He forced himself to reach over and take a hand in his. He shuddered at the feel of her joints crackling with arthritis. Her skin was paper thin, like a breath could bruise it. All he could focus on were the juicy veins clearly visible under her flesh, Slayer blood pulsing through them. He could hear her weakened heart stutter, even before the machines picked it up.

He waited. There was nothing else to do. For three days he waited, leaving on occasion to buy himself blood at the butcher's. He sat by her bedside, holding one of her frightening hands, waiting to see if she woke up. She didn't. His vampire eyes picked out her growing older, uglier every day. The rest of the gang, even Giles, filtered in and out periodically. Dawn was the only one that was as constant as him. Her glare never faltered, until he was almost willing to rip her throat out just to get her to stop looking at him with those accusing eyes.

After three days, it was clear to the most hopeful that it wasn't working. He tried to figure out how to tell them that, how to get them to release him from this awful duty.

"You could try talking to her, you know," Dawn said thickly. Of them all, she was the angriest. Angelus wanted to use that anger to turn her against the others, but Angel tamped down on that urge.

"Buffy," he said awkwardly. "You need to wake up."

There was no response. He hadn't expected one. Still, guilt compelled him to move forward. He pressed his lips to her gross fingers, ignoring the saliva that flooded his mouth. For the first time Buffy made a sound. It was a faint moan that could have been anything from desire to pain. Dawn's breath caught in her throat and she hovered over Buffy, giving him a disbelieving look.

He couldn't believe it himself, but now he didn't have a choice but to continue with it.

"Wake up, Buffy," he said, hoping she would and he could leave. No such luck. He suppressed a sigh. He knew what he had to do. It was in all the fairy tales, wasn't it? Kiss the girl, wake her up. He tried not to grimace. He half-rose and leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips. She twitched and moaned again.

"Buffy?" Dawn asked breathlessly.

Buffy twitched one more time, and then vomited thin yellow bile. Angel recoiled in disgust, the stench of it curdling in his nostrils. He couldn't quite hide the revulsion on his face, even as Dawn set about cleaning Buffy's mouth tenderly. Several shrill alarms went off, making nurses poor into the room. He could hear Buffy's heart struggling to keep beating.

"I'm sorry," he said, backing away. "I don't think it's working."

He left, escaping the Slayer compound of death. He didn't breathe a sigh of relief until he was twenty miles from the place. Only then did he allow himself to think about what happened there. He didn't get humans. He was a vampire, and had been for a long time. He didn't have to deal with the troubles of aging, or getting sick. Frankly, it seemed to be an uncomfortable process, and he was glad he was well away from it. He didn't know how Dawn and the others could stand to be around the once-vibrant Slayer, to watch her weakness, and not want to run from it.

Part of him was glad he wasn't Buffy's mate. Even the vomit thing supported that, because bonded mates fell ill under the advances of another. It meant she didn't get better at his touch, but it also meant he wouldn't have to stand there year after year, and watch the aging creep up on her again. At the same time, he felt a twinge of jealousy. She must love her mate a lot to be taken so hard by the pining.

It was time to talk to Spike.

* * *

The nice thing about a vampire's place of abode was that there was no need for an invitation.

"Bloody hell, Peaches, why don't I just take off the sodding door, yeah? No one bothers to respect it anyway."

The bad part about entering a vampire's abode was dealing with said vampire, especially if you couldn't stake him.

"I mean, most people look at a closed door and say, right then, closed door means _go away_ , so I think I'll sod off and come back some other time. But somehow, my place always has an open door policy, even when the door is _very clearly not open_ —" Spike froze in the middle of the tirade, nostrils flaring. His expression became closed. "You've been with _her_ ," he accused sullenly.

Angel felt guilty and jealous over what happened with Buffy. Angelus was restless from having been around so many Slayers, and thought the younger vampire was far too uppity. Both sides of him were fed up with Spike's cheek.

"As a matter of fact I have," he sneered. "It turns out Buffy's been sick. In fact, she's been _pining_."

Spike understood the word as quickly as Angel had during Willow's phone call. His shoulders hunched and a hurt look came over his face. "So you went off to save her then. It's always bloody Peaches to the rescue." He kicked absently at the corner of a rug on the floor.

Angel's temper flared. "Not this time. It turns out, I'm not the one she's pining for."

Spike looked up, naked hope in his eyes.

"And it's not you, either," Angel rubbed it in, "Because I can see, clear as day, that you're obviously _not_ pining for her."

Spike went still, not meeting Angel's eyes. Vampire stillness, not breathing, no pulse, no instinctive need to move. For a vampire that was as irritatingly active as Spike, it was as loud as a shout. Without warning Angel slugged the side of his face. Spike rocked back a step and came back spitting angry.

"You bloody wanker! What the bleeding hell was that for?" He lunged for the larger vampire. Angel might have the advantage in size and reach, but Spike had always been a quick, scrappy fighter, and could more than hold his own. This time, though, he was just a hair slow. Angel grabbed both his wrists and slammed him back against the wall. Spike struggled for a minute, then gave up. His chest heaved for unnecessary breath, and his eyes glared hatred. And yet, there was another expression in there, something Angel was not used to seeing in his grandchilde's face: _defeat_.

For the first time Angel took a good look at Spike. He was pale, even for himself. He'd always been small and lean, but now his wrists felt skeletal under Angel's hands. Spike hadn't fought back with his usual vinegar, and as Angel watched, a bruise blossomed on Spike's cheek, far faster than it would have even for a human. Suddenly Angel felt both angry and betrayed. He released Spike, taking a step back in case the smaller vampire decided to take revenge. Spike didn't, only rubbed his wrists resentfully and glared at his grandsire. Really, he could have taken lessons from Dawn. Both Angel and Angelus shuddered at the thought.

"So what, you were just going to waste away here and say nothing?" Angel demanded.

"'S not like it matters," Spike muttered, looking away. And quietly, as if out of habit, "Sod off."

"Pining leads to death, idiot!" Angel snarled.

"Not like any of you lot would have cared! Been through it before, know what it feels like."

"What?" Angel asked flatly. "I hardly think what you went through over Drusilla counts as pining."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Not her, you daft git. The summer Buffy was—gone. Promise to the Bit kept me going, but wouldn't have been long for me."

Angel studied Spike while the younger vampire avoided him. "And then she came back. So it is you, then."

Spike shook his head. "No it isn't. Never has been. Couldn't be me, didn't lo—want me enough for it. Flesh is all, not blood, not hearts. If she's pining, it's over some other bloke she's shacked up to. Not me. For me, yeah, it'll always be her. But not for her."

Spike was so blind Angel wanted to throttle him. Angelus actively encouraged the idea. Then again, Spike hadn't spent the last few days watching over a sick woman he no longer loved. Angel shook his head.

"Spike, Buffy isn't in the beginning stages of pining. She's been fading for a while. It's not someone new, it's someone old, someone she thinks is dead, which is why it's hitting her so hard. You know she's still alive, which is why it hasn't hit you as hard. You have separation. She has grief."

Spike set his jaw, preparing to be stubborn. Angel resisted the urge to punch him again. "You didn't see her," Angel didn't let Spike speak. "They said her Slayer side has gone dormant, has stopped healing her. All the damage that's been done over the years is coming back to her like she's pure human. She looked _old_ , Spike. She isn't going to last much longer if you don't get you head in gear and go to her."

Still Spike hesitated. He was clearly torn. He really didn't believe Buffy loved him, Angel realized. Even though she was pining away over him, he really thought she didn't want him. He would rather die, pining for Buffy, than force her to choose him.

"Even if you're not the one for her," Angel forced his voice to be sympathetic. "You should still go to say goodbye. It won't be much longer."

Spike gave him a horrified look. Suddenly he shoved past Angel with a muttered, "Bloody hell." He left the door open as he stormed out of his apartment. With a feeling of smugness, Angel left the building and shut it behind him.

Spike could feel the prickling on his skin that meant Slayers were nearby. After living the last Sunnyhell year in the house with Buffy, Faith and the Potentials, it was a semi-familiar sensation. Unlike most vampires, he wasn't intimidated by it. It was no secret that Spike was attracted to strong women. He'd always been drawn to Slayers, first for the challenge, and then because he'd fallen in love.

Now feeling so many of them in a concentrated space gave him a certain kind of thrill, an edge of danger that heightened his senses, tightened his muscles, prepared him to fight. But he hadn't come here looking for a fight. He came here… He wasn't sure why he was here. He didn't know if he was here to save Buffy or say goodbye. He knew she was his mate, the cure to his pining. What he didn't know was if he was hers.

If he was, then it looked like she had meant it after all, at the end. What was he supposed to do if she loved him enough to bond with him, but not to stay with him? Then again, he hadn't wanted her to stay. If she had, she would have died, and no guarantee Wolfram and Hart's ratty little amulet would have brought her back like it did him. No, he didn't want her to suffer or die when Sunnyhell had gone down… but he wished she hadn't left him alone at the end.

He studied the Slayer compound. He could see easily where he could get in. If he was still evil, he could have had a ripping merry time in there, and Slayers to boot! Sure, they'd bring him down, but it wasn't a bad way to go, really. But he hadn't come here to go out in a blaze of glory. Not again. He found a public phone, and dialed a number from memory, hoping it hadn't changed in the months since he'd used it.

"Hello?" She sounded tired, hopeless. His throat tightened, and for a moment he couldn't speak. He swallowed hard, forcing words around the lump in his chest.

"'Lo, Red," he said, voice gruff with emotion.

Silence on the other end of the phone, save for her shaking breathing. There was some shuffling, and then a door shutting.

" _Spike?_ " Willow demanded. "Oh my Goddess, you're alive! Where have you _been_? Why didn't you tell us you were back? Never mind, you have to get here, like _now_!"

"I know, pet," he said. "I'm outside. Just don't feel like getting staked going over the walls."

There was a squeal and then a clatter as she evidently dropped the phone in her haste to reach him. Shaking his head, he put receiver back on the stand and moved to where he could see the pedestrian entrance. He sensed Slayers watching him, but he leaned against the wall in plain view as if daring them to approach. He could handle himself against a couple young Slayers, even without trying to kill them. He instinctively knew no one in that building was up to _her_ level. She was more than the Slayer; she was the Goddess of Slayers, poetry in motion, the best dance he ever had.

The door opened and Willow stumbled out of the compound, looking around wildly for him. He gave a small wave, just enough to draw her attention. She saw him and started across the street toward him. She didn't see the car coming, but he did, and he moved fast enough to pull her out of the way as the car swerved and honked. The driver started to get out, until Spike flashed his fangs and a two fingered salute at the man. Suddenly the driver realized he had better things to do than get into it with a vampire. The car's tired squealed as he peeled out.

Only then did Spike give the witch a sheepish look.

"Spike," she gasped, patting his arm as if to confirm he was real. He'd be buggered before he admitted how good that touch felt. Like a sodding cat he was, always looking for contact with another being, even platonic like this.

"Yeah, Red," he acknowledged. "Buffy?"

Willow's eye filled with tears, and Spike's dead heart nearly dusted.

"She's not—?"

"No, not yet, but if you can't help her, it doesn't look good."

"'S what Peaches said. I'd do anything I can. Dust for her, if I got to."

She gave him a shrewd look. "Die for her, but would you live for her?"

He had no answer for that. He'd tried that before. Buffy hadn't wanted it. He didn't know what more he could do for her.

"Never mind, come on, we can work out details later." She grabbed his arm and pulled him along behind her. Two Slayers had come out of the gatehouse when they saw the commotion in the road, but Willow waved them back.

"Don't worry, he's for Buffy," she said breezily, and they eyed him speculatively. He could feel them sizing him up, deciding how they would stake him if given a chance. He smirked at them in open invitation. If they tried anything, he'd have a couple real good days with them. Wouldn't kill them, just rough them up a bit, let them know he was a master vampire. Their Slayer powers were so new they still squeaked.

Willow tugged him away. He followed, his duster flaring satisfactorily around his legs. He had no need to stalk after the witch. He strutted, owning the area around him despite the Slayers he could sense everywhere. They'd not catch William the Bloody flinching before them. Hell, being surrounded like this got his blood up, gave him one hell of a power trip.

They reached a hospital, and that was a different story altogether. Didn't much care for hospitals. Too much sickness floating around, no worthy prey to be found. Besides, reminded him of his mum, didn't they? Being sick, being helpless, trying to carry on regardless. He hated hospitals, and knew Buffy did too. He vowed then that if this really was the end for Buffy, he'd break her out of it before it happened. She wouldn't want to go like this.

Willow led him to a room that smelled like Angel, the Scoobies, and _Buffy_. She was weak and sick, but the scent of her was ambrosia to him. He stopped in the door, staring at the figure on the bed. She was old, like a woman of ninety, but there was no denying that she was—

"Buffy," he breathed reverently. She looked ephemeral, like an ageless heavenly creature that had been granted temporary passage on Earth. He was aware of Xander, Giles and Dawn in the room, but he couldn't tear his gaze from his Slayer.

He staggered forward, not caring how he made a ponce of himself. He knelt gingerly by her bedside, reaching for one of her hands. They were gnarled beyond recognition, but they were still Buffy hands. She had earned them, fighting, loving, sometimes both at once. Her skin was frail, her veins standing out like fat tubes full of lazy liquid. He kissed them and blessed them for keeping his Slayer alive. Her heartbeat was hesitant and sluggish, sounding so, so tired.

He stared up at her face. Some people turned unrecognizable as they aged, but he would have known her anywhere, at any age. To him the sagging skin and creases weren't marks of shame, but _pride_. Growing old was a hell of a lot better than the alternative most Slayers met.

"Good Lord!"

"How is this possible?"

"What did you do, Willow?"

"It wasn't me! He just called a few minutes ago and said he was outside. Maybe it was Angel."

There was a flurry of conversation in the room as they absorbed in his presence in various stages of shock and anger. Buffy's eyes moved rapidly behind her lids, a faint frown on her face. He cupped her cheek in his palm, able to taste the distress in her blood.

"Quiet, all of you," he suddenly snapped. "You want to take me to task for whatever, fine, but not here, not now. I'm here to help Buffy. You got a problem with that, get out."

They fell silent, but no one left. Probably didn't trust him enough to leave. That was fine, it wasn't like he cared what they thought of him. Buffy was the only one that mattered.

"'S alright, luv," he murmured to her, stroking his thumb along her delicate bones of her face. "I've got you, I'm here for you."

Gradually, her heart rate slowed. Was it a bit stronger than before? Too soon to tell. Everyone was staring at him. Well, he hadn't planned to serenade all of them, but Buffy was more important than his pride.

"You know, luv, I always wanted to see you like this," he spoke softly. There was a collective movement as everyone leaned in to hear him. Wankers. These words were not for them. "All old and wrinkled and frail, and still so strong you could bring me in half if you lifted your little finger. God, you're so beautiful. Don't even think otherwise. Age is a badge of pride, and nothing to try to hide. Reckoned, if I lived to see you old like this, it'd mean I'd done something worthwhile. It meant, you'd _lived_ , in an age when Slayers are dropping off faster than mayflies. Course, always thought you'd have a couple nippers around, with nippers of their own by now, if you'd settled with a good bloke. Knew I couldn't give you that."

He glanced up briefly at the others and chuckled. "Course, looks like you're still raising the kids here, teaching them to live. God, I never met anyone so _alive_ as you. Bloody symphony you are, makes a monster want to be a man for you. Now, I got a secret to tell you, something the others don't want to hear."

He stood up and leaned over her, his lips next to her ear. He spoke so softly not even another vampire in the room would have heard. "It's okay to let go. I know you're tired, and if you don't want to be here anymore, you can go. We both know what's waiting for you. You don't have to hold on anymore." He kissed her cheek and then sat down in a visitor's chair. It smelled like Angel, but he didn't care. There were tears in his eyes. They trickled down his face as he held her hand and waited. Whether she decided she was done or not, he'd be here for her.

"What did you tell her?" Dawn asked. "She looks… peaceful."

"Yes, she does, Niblet," he agreed. "I'm going to wait here with her for a while." He grimaced. "I wanna see how it ends."

They let him stay, not that any of them would have been able to remove a master vampire from the room. At first there was always at least two of them with him at all times. Didn't matter to him. Could have kept him under lock and key, chained to the taps and he would be fine so long as he could still see and touch Buffy. He spoke to her constantly, just so she would have something to listen to other than the thick misery in the air. He would have gone crazy with such silence. He _had_ gone crazy, that last year in Sunnyhell.

He got the others to bring him a few books, and when he didn't feel like talking, he read to her instead. His voice got hoarse and his lips chapped, so Dawn tried to offer him bagged blood. He shook his head. Buffy wasn't taking any substance save what they could put down those tubes in her arm, and he didn't feel much like eating. After a few days of staying up so she would have company, the exhaustion began to get to him. He snatched an hour here and there in the hospital chair, but it was too uncomfortable to rest for long.

It was Willow who finally suggested that he just lay next to her. He looked up at her in shock.

"It's not like we don't know already how you were together, and well, it's obvious that you're going to have to stay for a while. It's easier than getting another bed here, anyway," she said.

So he settled lightly on the bed, on top of the covers, and held his Slayer all night long. It was better that way. He was so tuned to her that the slightest disturbance to her heartbeat would wake him, and allow him to see to her needs. He didn't know if she was getting _better_ , but at least she was no longer getting worse.

He tensed the first time he woke on the bed and Xander was in the room with them. Spike stared at the whelp's single eye, waiting for the inevitable disgust and vitriol to start. It never came. After a while Xander shrugged and looked away. He might not be pleased by Spike's presence, but he had grown enough not to protest when Spike was giving his all. Giles was the hardest to reconcile, but once Willow, Xander and Dawn all ganged up on him, he had no choice but to accept it or be banned from the room.

Some of the other Slayers that he had trained as Potentials also stopped by. It was nice to see them, though he'd give his left arm before he admitted it. There were some people who weren't automatically against him just because of his diet. Not that he ate much these days. Hadn't touched a drop since leaving Los Angeles. It was a good thing that he didn't have a reflection, for he was probably growing rather gruesome to look at, all stretched skin over bones. Didn't matter. Couldn't die from starvation, after all.


	3. In Which Buffy Wakes Up (But Has a)

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews! I tried to do something different I hadn't seen before, and I'm glad people seem to like it. I work in a hospital, so I see every day that while aging is not fun, I really do think old people are beautiful, because it means they've seen and lived so much. People complain about growing old, but it's so much better than dying young. I see that in my hospital too.**

 **On that note, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to my dad, who is turning the big 60 today. Happy Birthday, Dad! I love you!**

* * *

 **Part 3: In Which Buffy Wakes Up (But Has a Setback)  
**

Oddly enough, it was Xander who finally convinced Spike to eat. The boy entered the room, carrying a mug of blood. The scent of the warm liquid made saliva flood Spike's mouth, but he shoved back the hunger with practiced experience. He didn't even go into game face these days.

"You should eat something," Xander said without preamble, waving the mug dangerously over Buffy.

"Watch it," Spike snarled, pushing his hand away and being careful not to spill any on the sleeping woman.

"No really, I'm serious," Xander insisted. "See here's how I figure it is. There's your girl, and she's laying there, not doing anything, so _you_ don't want to do anything. And I get it, I really do, because after Anya? Yeah, I wasn't doing anything useful. Then my friends kicked my ass, and made me keep moving."

Spike sneered. "I'd like to see you try."

"The way you are right now? Spike, Andrew could kick your ass. You're not much good for anything at the moment. I mean yeah, since you got here, Buffy's stopped getting worse, and maybe she's gotten a little better, but you really think she's going to want to wake up and see this?" He gestured at the recumbent vampire.

Spike snarled, "I knew it was coming. Not good enough for her, am I? Think I don't know that?"

Xander rolled his eye. "So not what I meant. You're already going to be in enough trouble with Buffy when she wakes up, you letting her think you were still dead."

By now everyone knew the story of how he'd come back. Giles had insisted on it, and Spike was willing to answer questions if it meant he would stay with Buffy.

"I mean, you want her to see you like this? I gotta say, deadboy junior not looking so pretty now," Xander continued. "You keep on like this, how much longer you going to be helpful before we got to put tubes in your veins next? Not to mention, there's a couple hundred girls out there who are way stronger than you, and they can feel that there's this really hungry vampire in the same room with their hero. I got to tell you, they all have itchy stake fingers to get you away from Buffy. You start eating something, not only are you going to be strong enough to defend yourself in case any of them start something, but maybe they're not going to worry so much that you're going to get snackish in the middle of the night."

Spike considered it for a minute. "Bloody hell," he growled, but seized the mug and began to drink it. Once he began, he couldn't stop. That first day he downed six liters of pig's blood. The animal swill wouldn't get him up to speed as fast as human, but at least it was plentiful. Surprisingly, all the Scoobies, even Giles, were willing to bring him blood when he requested it.

Dawn jokingly suggested starting a Slayer pool where each Slayer donated half a cup a week, but the idea was quickly vetoed by both Spike and Giles. There was only one Slayer's blood he would taste from now on, and only if she was willing. He regained condition quickly. He was no longer pining now that he was next to his mate, and soon he was as strong as he could be on a diet of animal blood.

As much as he hated to admit it, Xander was right. Hunger had weakened him and clouded his judgement. With his mind clear, he began to take a more active role in Buffy's care. He no longer laid listlessly next to her, but took part in her maintenance. He washed and brushed her hair. He massaged lotion in to her skin to keep it soft and supple. He gently exercised her limbs to keep them from freezing up, and rubbed ointment into her swollen joints. The nurses and Scoobies were grateful to have someone else who kept such a keen eye on her health, especially one with preternatural senses that could pick up what their machines and magic missed.

Those spells and wires were fine and all, but they didn't _know_ Buffy. Not like he did. They didn't hear the blood rushing through her veins, or smell the subtle changes that told him when she was uncomfortable. And admittedly, the baby Slayers backed off when he no longer looked like he was about to chomp down on her.

Despite his improvements, he felt betrayed by his own body. Here he was, strong and healthy again, while Buffy remained sleeping day after day. And yet, not all hope was lost. There _were_ improvements. Not so much outward, but he could sense her insides working better. The feeling of her _Slayerness_ was stirring, slowly coming back alive. He felt it happening and could only shake his head in amazement. Surely she was daft, choosing a creature like him as her mate. He would still deny it, but the evidence was irrefutable. In thinking he was dead, she had nearly pined herself to death. With him back, she was returning to life.

The only thing that continued to trouble them was that she had not regained consciousness. She did stabilize to the point where they were able to remove her magically induced coma. The moment they did, Spike picked her up from bed, tubes and all, and carried her outside. It was night of course, or he couldn't have done that. He regretted not being able to show her the sunshine, but he knew she wouldn't want to wake in that hospital room. Except that she didn't wake up. Not that night, nor the week following. Still he continued to carry outside for at least an hour every night. The fresh air was good for her, and he snarled at the nurses and Slayers until they stopped fussing over him. He'd cared for one crazy vampire for over a century. Did they think he couldn't coddle one Slayer for an hour each night?

He spent so much time with Buffy that the Scoobies began to encourage him to take breaks. He flatly refused, until Xander came and gave him another lecture about turning into a hermit vampire, and baby Slayers with stakes still green from being carved. Spike protested and rolled his eyes, but he agreed to take over one or two of the classes that Buffy used to teach. Many of the girls were only too happy to work out their frustrations on him, and he had no objections to take them down a peg or two.

They were strong, but not as strong or fast as Buffy, and not as cunning as him. They practiced with rubber stakes, but he was in no danger of an accidental hit. Give it a couple years in training and they might surpass vampire strength, but right now that were all clumsy ducks tripping over themselves.

Dawn was usually the one that sat with Buffy while he was teaching. He'd had a heart-to-heart with the Niblet when he first came, and now they were tight again. Spike didn't like to let on how much he needed people, but it was true. He didn't like being alone. It was his worst nightmare. His time with Angel at Wolfram and Hart had been his private hell. Unable to touch at first, and then nothing more than an annoyance after. They didn't want him, didn't need him.

And then he found out Buffy was pining, and dropped everything to reach her. Now, it was weird, but he was feeling a sense of belonging that he'd never had, even in Sunnyhell. The Slayers that didn't actively want to stake him actually respected him, he had his Bit back again, he got to sleep beside his Slayer every night, and Giles, Willow and Xander appeared to accept him. In fact, about the only person whose reception he was worried about was Buffy herself.

Dawn was alone with Buffy when it happened. Spike was away teaching his class—grumbling all the while about having to go. He had been the one that discovered that talking to Buffy, whether or not she could understand them, seemed to help her. Maybe the sound of her friends and loved ones served to anchor her to this world. There were several books on her bedside table. Spike preferred to read to her softly at night, when everyone else was resting.

Dawn had to admit that his voice was very soothing. She had fallen asleep more than once listening to him, and in those faint dreams she had imagined they were a real family again, still in the house on Revello Drive, and not in this new reality. Spike was always attentive to her sister, but he didn't forget about her either. His hand drifted over her hair on occasion, and the look in his eyes was vulnerable and desperate.

Secretly, she didn't understand him. She didn't care about the whole vampires-can't-love thing, even before he got a soul. But the way Buffy and the others treated him, especially back in Sunnydale, and he never left. That was what she didn't understand. Anyone who had been treated half as bad would have high-tailed it out of there as soon as they could. Angel did, so many times Dawn had lost count of his revolving door status. Riley did. Giles did. But not Spike. He stuck around, despite the animosity, despite the pain, often at Buffy's hands.

And here he was again, or was it still? Things were better in the group this time, all drawn together in an effort to help Buffy, but still, he'd forgiven them. Not only forgiven them, but wanted so badly to belong that he would have put up with the same level of abuse and pain to stay. No, she didn't understand him. But she was grateful he was here. Not only that, but he was proving useful. Helping Buffy, teaching classes, tracking down a baby Slayer that had gotten misplaced yesterday.

"We got a new girl in a few days ago," Dawn was saying. "She's like, super young, only nine years old. Which, I guess we've had younger, but still, always seems like such a shock. Her name is Emily, and she was pretty wigged when we brought her in. I guess she didn't have much of a home before, and it was actually someone in her neighborhood who saw this really strong little girl and called the Watchers. Anyway, she's so tiny, and she doesn't like strangers much, especially some of the guys. So she had floor duty yesterday, and you know how Mike is this great guy but he has this really booming voice? He said something to her about how she wasn't doing it right, and she freaked out right there. Ran away and everything.

"Well there was this collective panic, and especially when it turned out that the outside door was left open after deliveries. So we can't find her inside the buildings, everyone's now outside looking for her on the streets, no one knows what do to, and in the middle of everything here comes Spike—"

Was it her imagination or had Buffy's hand twitched when she said his name? It wasn't the first time her sister seemed to react to any mention of the blond vampire, so she continued her story.

"And he's got that duster all swirling around him, you know how he can just fill up a place without even trying? He was like that, and he says something like, 'You sodding gits, why don't you call in the bloody dogs?'" She badly imitated Spike's accent, watching Buffy's eyes flick back and forth.

"Then he takes this deep breath, smelling everything, and walks right over to the linen closet and yanks it open. Sure enough, there's Emily, she somehow wedged herself up on the top shelf, in this little tiny corner you swear wouldn't be big enough for a mouse. Which is funny, because Spike called her a mouse, and she seemed to like that. You know how he is with nicknames. He had to talk her out of the shelf, because Slayer strength, we couldn't just pull her out without taking the entire closet with her.

"So he gets her out of the closet, and Mike is just beside himself, because he never meant to scare her, he was only trying to help her. He's sitting there, and he's got his head in his hands because he feels bad about it and all, and Spike has finally got Emily calmed down, and what do you know, she goes up to Mike and pats _his_ shoulder!"

Dawn shook her head. "I'm telling you, that boyfriend of yours is the real deal. If you can't see how good Spike is when you get out of this, I don't know, I might move in with him or something. I mean, not that I'd date him, because he never looks at anyone but you, and I actually think Mike is really cute, but I don't want him to leave again. So you better be nice to Spike, you hear me?"

Buffy was visibly shifting every time Spike's name was mentioned, and it was the most activity she'd shown in weeks. Dawn watched eagerly, repeating the name as much as possible.

"Spike loves you, you know. Spike really does. Spike came back for you, and he's not leaving this time, as long as you don't do something stupid and push Spike away. And come on, how stupid would you have to be to do that, when missing Spike is the reason you got into this mess in the first place?"

Then it happened. Buffy's eyes actually fluttered open. Not fully open, only halfway. Sometimes she did that when she had a particularly vivid dream, but this seemed different.

"Buffy?" Dawn asked in a tiny voice.

Her sister blinked once, then twice. Her eyes moved, and slowly tracked toward Dawn. Her lips moved, a word that Dawn was almost sure was _Spike_.

"Buffy, can you hear me?" Dawn asked again. Buffy blinked, looked at Dawn, met her eyes. She tried to speak again, but only a croak came out. Dawn jumped up and grabbed the cup of water that was always on the bedside. She used the straw to carefully put a few drops in Buffy's mouth. Buffy licked at the water, swallowed, and desperately sucked at the straw for more. It was empty, but Dawn didn't dare refill it.

"Take it easy, Buffy," she said, tears in her eyes. "You've been out for weeks and they said you wouldn't be able to handle a lot at first. Oh my God, wait until I tell everyone that you're awake!"

Buffy's eyes wandered around the room almost frantically, searching for something.

"Buffy? It's okay, really, they said you'd be weak, and it will take a while to get back to normal."

Her sister looked back at Dawn, and there was a look of such despair, heartbreak and _betrayal_ in her expression that she felt a terrible foreboding on the back of her neck.

"Buffy?"

The Slayer mouthed the word, _tired_ , and closed her eyes. Her body went slack. Without warning the numbers on the heart monitor started to plummet, from her normal 60-70 range to forty, thirty, twenty, beginning flatline.

"No, Buffy, you can't do this!" Dawn cried, jumping on the bed and shaking her sister as shrill alarms erupted from the machine. She began clumsy chest compressions, but it was hard. An actual living human chest was nothing like the plastic dummies they had in class, and the bed was too soft under her, absorbing the compressions. She was screaming for help as nurses poured into the room. They shouted and ran around, grabbing medicines and magics. Someone pulled Dawn away. She fought viciously, but it was one of the Slayers, too strong to resist.

Someone else took her place performing CPR, placing a hard board under Buffy to make it more effective.

"Get Spike!" someone was yelling, and Dawn realized it was her. Spike had brought Buffy back before. He was the reason she had woken up. If he'd only been here this wouldn't be happening! They worked frantically over the Slayer's body, but the only pulse she had was the one they were giving her with their hands.

Dawn never knew if they followed her advice to get Spike, or if he just sensed something wrong, but suddenly he was there. With a roar he threw the nurse doing compressions across the room. The poor girl hit the wall and slid down, but she jumped back up with a Slayer's resistance. Spike straddled Buffy on the bed and resumed compressions, harder and faster than even the Slayer nurse could do it. The bed creaked in rhythm; the way Spike's body thrust as he pounded on her chest made it seem obscene, almost suggestive.

"Don't you dare do this to me, Slayer!" he yelled furiously. "You had your chance to go, and you didn't take it! I fought too hard and too long for you, and you're not leaving me now!"

"Watch her ribs," a nurse unwisely advised. Spike roared at him, flashing his demon face.

"Ribs will heal," he snarled. "She's not leaving me!"

He continued to work away on her. They all did. When it came time to shock Buffy, Spike merely stood on the bed, grabbed a strut in the ceiling and pulled his feet up. Once the shock was delivered, he dropped down and began compressions flawlessly. Without him, it was doubtful they would have been able to bring her back. Even with other Slayers available to take over, he never faltered. He didn't need to breathe, though he panted as he growled and shouted and threatened Buffy. Vampire endurance was legendary, and it came into play as he kept going beyond what a Slayer would have been able to do. If anyone thought it odd that a vampire with a long history of killing Slayers was now attempting to bring one back to life, no one commented on it.

Finally, Spike paused, lifting his hands and sitting back on his heels. Dawn screamed at him as the lines on the monitors fell again. But then they came back. Spike's chest heaved for silent breath as he closed his eyes and _listened_. His delicate senses had picked up the change in Buffy's heart more the machines could have. Her pulse was weak and thready. Technically she was still alive, but the hospital staff read her numbers and shook their heads. They'd seen this before. They knew it was only a brief reprieve. This was the part of their jobs that they didn't like, when the patient was clearly suffering and longing to die, but the family was hanging on and forcing them to keep living.

Spike growled warningly at them before their defeatist air could infect the room. Wisely they chose to leave. Giles, Xander, Willow and Dawn stayed. Spike moved from straddling her to lying next to her. The electrodes they used to shock her had left burns on her chest, and he began to lick them clean. There was a faint noise of protest, but it was quickly silenced by three other voices. They had almost lost Buffy, and the vampire saliva would help her heal better. Now was not the time to turn squeamish.

Spike was in for the fight of Buffy's life, and he knew it. Anger thrummed through him, at the Slayer, at himself, but his hands were still gentle as he massaged her palms. How dare she try to leave him now, after he'd already invested himself in her? Yeah, he told her that first day if she wanted to go she could, but she hadn't wanted to then. If she didn't want it then, he wouldn't let her now.

Dawn shakily told them about Buffy waking up right before her crisis, and that was all he needed to know. He knew exactly what had happened, and he was furious about it. For two weeks Buffy remained weak and on the edge. It never quite reached the point of a full hospital code again, but only because Spike wouldn't let it. The second her rhythm faltered, he was there, forcing her into action again. If he had to tear open her chest and massage her heart by hand, he would.

Her torso was mottled with bruises from the compressions. He'd felt the crackle in her chest as he'd worked on her, and knew he had damaged her ribs as well. That was fine. Ribs would heal, as he said. Death would not heal, not again for his Slayer. He knew with a certainty that her next death would be end of the line for her. And after that, what was for him but to meet the sunrise?

He hoped that she could feel the bruises he'd put on her body, the broken ribs, the burns from the electrodes. He hoped they hurt like a bitch. She _should_ feel pain, for what she tried to do to him. Life was pain. Pain reminded her to keep moving, keep going. At one point during his struggle with her he bit her neck, over the vampire scars already in place there, and growled loud enough to shake the bed. His blunt human teeth didn't pierce the skin, but they left another beautiful bruise on her. He bit his own wrist and touched her tongue with his blood. He dabbed a couple drops under her nose, where she would smell them with every breath. Because she was his, and he was hers.

Late at night, when Dawn had drifted off to sleep in the hospital chair and everyone else had gone back to their own rooms, he spoke to Buffy.

"I know what you did," he said in a low, angry tone. "You woke up, and I wasn't there. You thought I was only a dream, that I didn't really come for you. You doubted me, _again_ Buffy! You really got to get over that, 'cos you're stuck with me, you daft bint. You went and chose me as your mate, enough to pine for me, but you didn't think I'd be there for you? How could you?" His voice broke, and he suddenly flashed back to his last moment in Sunnyhell.

 _I love you._

 _No, you don't. But thanks for saying it._

No, he hadn't believed her either when she said it. He cried silently as he continued talking. "I love you, Buffy. God, I love you so much. And if you go, I got to tell you, I'm not long for this world. I'd just pine away like you're doing now, and I think I'd rather make it quick, you know what I mean. You woke up in this room, and I wasn't here for you, and you decided you'd rather just go than deal with being without me. Well, I'm here, and I'm going to make you believe, anyway I have to. My blood is yours, Buffy. Just you remember that, and next time you feel like taking a header, remember that you're dragging me with you."

Despite the incredulity of the hospital staff, Buffy did eventually get better. She suffered a setback, and it was taking her longer to heal, but she lived. That was the important part. Spike was now an immoveable fixture from Buffy's side. He refused to leave for an instant. It was a good thing he didn't need bathroom breaks, because he would have found a way around that as well. He didn't dare be absent for when Buffy woke again, for fear of the same thing happening. He didn't teach classes, and if no one brought blood, he would have starved rather than stir for one minute. But he didn't starve, because people were willing to bring him as much blood as he needed.

Xander came in one day, with that look on his face.

"Don't start, Whelp," Spike snarled. "I'm not leaving again. If I do, she could die."

Xander held up his hands innocently. "No leaving," he agreed. "This is me telling you to be non-leaving guy. I just thought you might like a new book to read." From his back pocket he pulled out a paperback and handed it to Spike. The vampire took it, oddly touched.

"Ta, mate," he said, and nodded to the man.

It was three weeks before Buffy stirred again. Spike had been reading her poetry—they were alone, so he didn't worry about looking too poncey, and in any case it wasn't his own work—when he recognized the signs of her starting to wake. The small twitches in her limbs, her eyes moving restlessly, the hitch in her breathing as she tried to drag herself from the deep well of sleep. He didn't stop talking, but it was impossible to read with all his attention focused on her. He closed the book and laid his head on the pillow next to hers.

"So my girl likes poetry, does she?" he murmured, cupping her cheek tenderly. "Figures that, just don't ask to see any of mine, yeah? I guarantee it'll send you back to sleep, if you don't choke from laughing too hard first." He watched her struggle against months of sleep. His thumb stroked her face.

"It's okay to wake, you know," he told her. "I'm here for you this time, and I'm not going to let you fall into the darkness." He breathed softly into her face, washing her in his scent.

And then she did it. Her eyes slitted open a tiny bit. Her gaze was unfocused, her expression confused and discontent. No doubt she was wondering why she wasn't dead when she'd tried so hard to do it.

"Hello cutie," he said softly, before she could get any funny ideas about taking another swan dive. She froze, her body tensing. A human wouldn't have noticed the tiny movement, but he saw everything. Her eyes fluttered, and with a great effort she opened them further. Those hazel orbs were the best things he'd ever seen as they locked on his.

Her lips moved, a faint whisper leaving her body that only a vampire inches away could have heard.

"Spike?"

He nodded. "Yeah, luv, it's me. I'm here for you." He ran his finger over her lips, revealing in the sensation of her gasp. He could see her confusion and delight, and her frustration as she tried to move but her body wouldn't listen to her. He brought her hand up to his face and pressed it there. Her fingers twitched, tracing over the scar on his eyebrow.

She whispered another word. "Heaven?"

He chuckled. "Not Heaven, pet. Just regular old earth, billions of Happy Meals on legs, the whole bit."

Her lips quirked. He moistened them with a damp cloth, and then fed her a few drops of water in the way that Dawn had. She accepted it, but frowned.

"How?" She stared at him desperately, touching his face as if she couldn't bear to let go. That was fine by him, because he wasn't releasing her any time soon.

"That's a long story, and I think you're still a bit tired for it. Get some more rest, and I'll tell you once you're better."

She shook her head minutely, even as she sagged with weariness. She began to do something odd, closing first one eye, and then the other, as if alternately winking at him. He was vastly entertained by it.

"What are you doing, luv?"

"Don't… sleep. Wake… gone."

He felt like crying. She didn't want to sleep, or even close her eyes, because she feared if she did he would disappear again.

"Not going to happen. I'm kind of a long-term bloke, yeah? Not going anywhere, now or ever. Sleep, Buffy. I'll be here when you wake."

Still she resisted him, until he leaned forward and gently kissed one eye shut. He ran his fingers down the other, and once both were closed she relaxed instantly into slumber.

Willow came in a few minutes later, carrying a mug of blood for him and lunch for herself. She saw the way he was lying and hesitated.

"Spike?" she asked fearfully, eyes darting to the monitors that they had all become adept at reading over the last few months.

"Shh, Red," he cautioned her quietly. "She's sleeping."

"She's—oh! You mean she—she woke up?" Willow was practically jumping in place, squeezing her sandwich to bits and trying to keep her voice from squeaking. He smiled fondly at her, tears of gratitude in his eyes. Without warning Willow flung herself at him and hugged him hard. He was startled, but accepted it gratefully. He would have expected it more from Dawn, but he didn't mind at all.

"Thank you, Spike," Willow whispered, straightening and wiping at her own face. "We wouldn't have her but for you."


	4. In Which Buffy Gets Better (And Talks

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews! This is the penultimate chapter of this story. I'd like to give a shoutout to reviewer Cloongarvin, whose comment inspired me to add another scene to this chapter. I hope everyone enjoys it!**

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 **Part 4: In Which Buffy Gets Better (And Talks to Spike Without Shouting)  
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Buffy woke again less than twenty-four hours later. This time Xander and Dawn were in the room as well. She spared them a glance, but most of her attention was focused on Spike. She still wasn't up to talking in more than monosyllables, or doing more than swallowing a little bit of water. She started doing that eye-winking thing, and once more he kissed her eyes shut. Afterward he gave Xander and Dawn an apologetic glance. Dawn was openly sniffling, but they were tears of joy.

"No, it's okay," she assured him. "We're not mad, it's just so good to see her starting to wake up now." She crawled into bed next to him, so that he was surrounded by both his Summers women. It made him want to purr in contentment. Even Xander nodded, and drifted near enough to pat Spike's shoulder.

"It was all you, man," Xander acknowledged. It was perhaps the first time the other man had ever touched him in less than pure hatred and animosity. Spike tried not to show how much it meant to him. His lip curled.

"Whelp."

"Deadboy junior."

They smiled knowingly at each other.

From that point on, Buffy began to wake at irregular intervals, each time for a little longer. Her condition began to improve rapidly, once more supporting the idea that Spike really was her mate. Her previous recovery had been slow because her Slayer side hadn't been entirely convinced that Spike was back. When she woke and didn't see him, it nearly killed her. But now that she had solid evidence of him every time she opened her eyes, her Slayer side was stirring with a vengeance.

Her healing was back to a Slayer's normal, so her body began to reclaim the youth that had been stolen, especially once she began eating again. She recovered enough to become embarrassed by the way she looked in front of Spike. She asked Willow for a mirror, and the witch handed over a small compact from her purse. Buffy barely glanced into it before shrieking and covering her face with her hands.

Spike had been lounging in a corner of the room while Willow and Buffy were catching up, but now he bounded across the room and landed next to her on the bed, automatically reaching to protect her.

"What is it?" he asked urgently. She flinched and turned away from him. He gripped her wrist, trying to pull her hands away from her face. All he could think was that something had happened, she'd been injured in some way. He didn't smell blood, but what could turn his Slayer into a quivering heap like this?

"Don't look at me!" she yelped. "I'm hideous!"

He paused, not sure he'd heard her correctly. "What was that, luv?"

"I'm ugly! Go away!"

It was such a ridiculous statement that he laughed. He sank back against the bed, one arm still around her despite her protests.

"You're gorgeous, cutie," he said with the complete assurance of someone who spoke the truth.

"No, I'm not," she snapped stubbornly. "I'm all wrinkly and old—"

Abruptly he rolled to her, grabbed her wrists and jerked her hands down. "And you're an absolute dream to me," he snarled in her face.

She glared defiantly at him for a moment, and then her expression turned uncertain. "I am?"

"Completely," he nodded, his hold softening so he wouldn't leave bruises. "I've dreamed about seeing you old since I first fell in love with you. Mind, I thought it'd take longer than this, but it's just a little setback, yeah? You have no idea what a privilege it is to see you grow old like this."

She snorted. "Says the eternally young and beautiful vampire," she groused.

"Yeah, and most people who look like me didn't exactly perform wholesome acts to get where they are," he retorted. "But you humans, you complain so much about growing old, when you don't realize what a privilege it is. I'd rather see you grow old a hundred times than see you die young. Did that once already, can't say I cared for it. So yeah, you're gorgeous to me, with every adorable little wrinkle and magnificent liver spot. Because you earned it. You earned the right to _live_. These lines and marks you worry about are not ugly; they are trophies because you're still breathing, and I would worship every single one."

Buffy's face went slack as she stared at him. Her hand fisted in his t-shirt, clinging to him as if she didn't know how to let go. He could see the wonder and confusion in her eyes. She couldn't fully understand it, but she knew he meant it.

"Oh my Goddess, you two are so cute!" Willow exclaimed tearfully, startling both of them. They'd forgotten she was in the room with them. Buffy gave an embarrassed laugh, but met his eyes and then buried her face in his chest. He kissed the top of her head.

As the Slayer got better, she was filled with a natural restlessness that matched Spike's. She wanted to get _out_ of the hospital. The doctors wanted her to stay longer to continue with the monitoring and therapy. Spike was able to negotiate a compromise where she would stay for one more week, and then move back to her dorm room. She would still be hooked up to a few machines to keep an eye on her, and she would be required to do physical therapy with both Spike and therapists that would come to her room.

She pouted, but agreed to it. It helped that she tried to rise on her own, and found she could barely sit up without getting dizzy. Not to mention if she tried anything more physical, Spike was easily able to hold her down with one hand. She was furious about it, until she realized that resisting Spike was actually hurting his feelings.

"Do you even want me here, Slayer?" he asked archly, sitting on the edge of her bed, facing outward and ready to rise. "Because I got to say, I'm trying to help you here, and you're just pushing me away. Makes a bloke think he's not wanted around. Mayhaps I should leave and let you get to it on your own."

Her eyes widened, and she reached out to grab his arm. "Stay, please," she begged, tugging at him. He faced her reluctantly.

"Spike… I'm sorry. I know I'm being not-fun Buffy, but I do want you to stay. Please… don't go. Unless you don't want to be here."

Her eyes were wide, and her chin trembled.

"Nowhere else I'd rather be, luv. But a bloke likes to know he's welcome."

"You are," she laced their fingers together. "Believe me, you are. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here." She tugged at him until he was lying beside her again. She stared at him, running her hand over his face and hair as if trying to memorize him the same way he'd done to her. She didn't say she loved him, but he could see it in her eyes. Feel it in that undefinable bond between them. She, Buffy, had chosen him, and that was enough for now.

While she was frustrated by her weakness and confinement, Spike was able to relieve some of her tension by carrying her outside at night. They sat at a café table, Buffy sitting on Spike's lap with a blanket tucked around them. She relaxed from being able to breathe fresh air. Instead of constantly pushing at her limits, she actually laid back and merely enjoyed the night. She didn't mind sitting in his lap, didn't complain that she actually needed him to carry her and hold her up. She became rather affectionate during this time, laying her head on his shoulder, playing with his hands until it was time for them to go back. Those were some of his favorite nights, right there.

He convinced her to take a little sunshine as well, though at first she resisted him. This time it was about her reluctance to be separated from him, and he was the one that had to reassure her that she was still wanted. She did finally agree to be placed in a wheelchair and taken outside. Xander, Willow and Dawn were all there for her. They were inordinately pleased to see her up and about again. Spike watched from the shadows, carefully avoiding the sunlight, as Buffy sat out there. She blinked at the brightness as first, until she closed her eyes and tilted her face upward. She basked in the warmth, and he thought his heart would burst from seeing her bathed in the light. It was almost worth dusting to go out and meet her.

He was worried when she came back in half an hour later that she wouldn't want to see him again. She belonged in the light, and he was forever barred from it. How was she going to reconcile that in her mind? Apparently, there was no question about it for her. As soon as her wheelchair was in the shade and she saw him, she held her arms out to him. Uncharacteristically, she allowed him to pick her up without complaint, and carry her back to her room. He wouldn't meet her eye as he settled her in bed and tucked the blankets around her. Her pale skin was slightly sunburnt, and he made a note to get lotion to sooth it.

She stopped him with a hand on his face. He stilled.

"It wasn't the same without you there," she said quietly. "Stay with me?"

"Always," he swore fervently, turning his head to kiss her palm. "Forever, luv."

So he took her out at nights, and her friends brought her lunch in the sun. Those small tastes of normal life did wonders for her anxiety, and she made an obvious effort to show her appreciation for all they did for them. He remembered the question she'd asked when she first woke, and wondered if he had lied to her after all about being in Heaven, because he was getting damn-near his own version of it.

Buffy was beginning to walk when she was released with reluctance from the hospital. However, she was only taking a few steps at a time, clinging to the double bars in the therapy room. She flatly refused the wheelchair they brought for her, and insisted on waiting until nightfall so Spike could carry her over. There was a small going away celebration at the hospital, and a welcoming home party in her actual dorm.

Spike was secretly delighted that she refused the wheelchair because it made her feel weak—too right he agreed with her on that one—but didn't mind having him carry her around. It was one of the delicious contrasts about the Slayer that he loved about her. As they crossed campus from the hospital to the dorm building, they were surrounded by an honor guard of Scoobies and Slayers. Still, she made it a point halfway there to whisper in his ear, "You're invited in, Spike. Always."

A shiver ran down his spine at those words. There was no barrier at the door of her room, because she made it so. Buffy sat in pride of place on a recliner in her room, smiling at her friends. They were limiting access to her, but it seemed like almost every Slayer stopped by for a few minutes to see their leader restored to her throne. By this point she looked like she was in her thirties again, and her once-white hair was growing back blond. There was a four inch stretch of hair that was white, though her roots and ends were still blond.

Dawn assured her that it only looked like she'd gone through a rebellious phase. To Spike, the white hair was one more badge of pride. He would never forget what it was like to see his Slayer as an old woman, and the white hair was a trophy of one more thing that she had beaten. He almost wished she could keep a single streak of it to showcase her strength, just as he bore the scar on his eyebrow.

The Scoobies did almost as good a job as him when it came to watching Buffy's energy levels, and though she was happy to be back in her room, they were firm in cutting off the visiting. They said their private goodbyes, promised to pick her up for lunch, and left, shutting the door behind him. No one commented that Spike had stayed behind. No one gave them knowing looks, or giggled behind their hands. That gesture of trust from people who had never wanted him before nearly undid him.

Buffy sagged once they were alone. As he'd suspected, she was hiding how tired she was from everyone else. Only with him was she completely honest. It was a privilege he'd not looked for.

"Right then, ready for bed?" he asked, as if he wasn't affected by being alone with her. It had been different at the hospital. That room was clinical, and stank of disease and chemicals. This was _Buffy's_ room, and other than the recent visitors, smelled of her. He was relieved that there was no scent of another man here. This place was truly her private domain, and she'd invited him in.

"God, yes," she said in relief, stretching her spine. "I love them all, don't get me wrong, but…"

"It's good to be home?"

"Definitely." She nodded. She gripped the arms of her chair and struggled to stand. He moved to help her, but she shook her head. "I want to do it."

And she did. She stood on her own, holding the chair and standing on her own. She swayed for a few seconds. He arched one eyebrow and gave her about half a minute before she collapsed completely.

"Okay, I take it back, a little help here," she changed her mind.

"Gladly," he chuckled. He moved in front of her and held out his arms so she could use them for balance and support. She gave him a playful look, and let herself fall forward so he either had to catch her or let her drop. He caught her, of course. She giggled, pressing her face to his neck and blowing hot air on his skin. He jumped, and again when her warm hands slipped under his t-shirt and stroked along his chest and stomach.

"Have I told you how grateful I am that you're here?" she murmured, rubbing against him.

"Mayhap a little," he played along with her, carrying her to the bed and setting her down. She pouted when he straightened so she couldn't reach him, then grinned as he removed her shirt. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her, allowing his hands to skim the flesh of her back before finding her bra hook and undoing it. He threw both her shirt and bra into the hamper in the corner. She reclined on the bed, smirking at him in clear invitation. He knew he was smiling back as he held out his hand to her. She took it and tried to pull him down. He was still stronger than her, and pulled her to a sitting position instead. He took her other hand and stretched both arms over her head. He could feel her trembling, see her breath coming faster.

She pulled restlessly at his hold on her wrists. "Want to feel you," she gasped.

"So impatient, Slayer," he murmured, and then with a practiced motion slid a pajama shirt down over her outstretched arms. Not one of those revealing camisoles, but a solid flannel affair. She blinked in surprise, and while she was still confused, took the opportunity to push her back onto the bed. He pulled her pants off, leaving her panties intact, and slipped matching flannel bottoms onto her instead. Her pants flew across the room into the hamper with her other clothes.

She bit her lip, wrapping her arms around herself. "I don't understand," she admitted in a frightened tone. Her eyes fell to his crotch. "You're not—You don't want me?"

He leaned down to her, his face hovering over hers without touching. "More than you know, luv," he breathed lowly. "But I want all of you, when you're coherent and not loopy over getting out of the hospital."

He grabbed her then, in a vampire-quick motion that had her under the blankets and tucked in before she could test his control.

"Goodnight, luv," he said firmly. "Get some rest, I'll be back by the time you wake." He didn't know what he was going to do, other than take a cold shower, but he wanted to be out of the room that smelled like Buffy and away from the willing Slayer before he lost all control over himself. It was all he could do to not take advantage of her in the way she wanted. A voice in the back of his mind was shouting, _She chose you as a mate, you wanker! She_ wants _you, go to her now, before she changes her mind!_ The rest of him was holding back, not wanting to repeat the mistakes of the year she came back.

 _I love you._

 _No, you don't. But thanks for saying it._

Okay, yeah, maybe he still had a few issues to work through. Her Slayer side had chosen him, but what about the rest of her? He wanted to make sure she would still respect him in the morning, and that wouldn't happen if he slept with her now. He strode quickly for the door, wrenching his heart with every step.

"Spike?" Her tiny voice stopped him in his tracks. "Please don't go. You promised."

Slowly he turned around, feeling his will crumbling. His soul yearned for her. She looked small, in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin, watching him with frightened eyes.

"That I did, luv." The words were torn from him before he could stop them.

"Stay?" she begged, patting the bed next to her. On top of the covers. Just like in the hospital. Right, he could do that. He approached the bed, irresistibly drawn to her. He laid down next to her, fully clothed and outside the blankets. She reached for him and trailed her hand through his hair.

"Sorry," she snatched her hand back with a blush. "I know you didn't want to be here, and I forced you into this."

He caught her hand and took his time pressing soft kisses to every knuckle and fingertip. Her breath was unsteady by the end of it.

"Wrong you are, luv. Reckon no better place I'd rather be," he assured her, and held her hand under his chin. Her fingers stroked along his jaw. That touch seemed to satisfy both of them, and they were finally able to rest.

Now that Buffy was home, she improved in leaps and bounds. By the end of the first week, she was able to walk across campus. By the end of the second, she was training in the Slayer gym and contemplating taking up her classes again. Spike engaged her in a few light sparring sessions, and that was enough to convince her to hold off a while longer. Still, she was clearly on the mend. Her skin began to take on the golden glow from her time in the sun, and her hair was almost long enough that she contemplated completely cutting off the white section. Spike's horrified splutter was enough to convince her against it.

At night she practiced her Slayer skills against Spike. He was once again caught up in the dance of her, and it was better, more intoxicating than ever. Without her full strength, she was forced to be a more clever fighter, and she was more his equal than before. Through it all, he continued to stay in her dorm. They didn't sleep together, but their bodies were never far from each other in repose. What amazed Spike was even though Buffy was nearly back to normal, she still treated him well.

There was no pending apocalypse, no reason that she would need him… and yet she did. They had spats, of course, but both of them were quicker to apologize, to back off their pride, to forgive each other. And it wasn't just Buffy. The rest of the Scoobies accepted him with an effortlessness that stunned him. Willow became one of his girls like Dawn, and Xander was good for a stag night when the hens were talking. Even Giles began to come around, though he suspected that Buffy had words with him to that effect. She chose… him? Over her Watcher? It made his head spin. He had this crazy feeling that he wasn't meant for such happiness, and it was only time before something came to bollocks it up.

It was several weeks after Buffy came home that she suddenly said, "I'm angry with you, you know."

They were sitting against the headboard of her bed. She was whittling a stake to improve her manual dexterity. He had an arm around her shoulders, holding her against him. He looked down at her, but her attention was focused on her stake. Her tone was casual, so he matched it.

"Is that so, luv? Should I be worried then?" His knee nudged hers.

"What?" She looked up, realized he was referring to stake, and threw both wood and knife across the room. "No, definitely not." Then she paused and seemed to reconsider. "Maybe you should, actually." She shifted to face him. He regretted the loss of contact, until she took his face in her hands and drew him down to her.

"I am absolutely, stunningly, furious with you," she repeated, but it sounded more like she was trying to seduce him. He licked his lips and tried to think of what he could have done to make her both mad and calm at the same time.

"Alright, what did I do?" he asked, matching her tone.

"You left me." Horror flickered in her hazel eyes.

"Right here, luv," he reminded her, raising his hands to cover hers.

She shook her head. "Not now, before. Sunnydale. You _left_ me."

 _I love you._

 _No, you don't. But thanks for saying it._

Looked like he wasn't the only one with ghosts that needed to be laid to rest.

He didn't try to give her some trite answer about destiny or having to save the world. That was something this woman understood too well.

"Worst mistake I ever made," he agreed instead.

She seemed surprised by his easy answer, but she wasn't done yet. He'd known this conversation was going to happen sooner or later, and he was grateful there wasn't any shouting yet.

"You didn't _believe_ me," she said plaintively. "I meant it, you know. Still do. And you wouldn't let me save you."

He hesitated a second too long to answer that one, and she read everything he was trying to hide in that silence.

"Spike!" she exclaimed. "I love you. _I love you_ , do you hear me? My Spike, my William, I love you."

"I love you too, pet," he said with a quick smile, trying to mask the pain in his heart. It was everything he wanted to hear, and yet…

"Do you believe me?"

Again, his silence spoke too loud. He closed his eyes. A tear drifted down his cheek. He felt Buffy's warm breath on his face, and then a whisper of a kiss as she drank his tear. His breath sighed out, shaking and disbelieving. This wasn't happening to him. He didn't deserve this.

"Why don't you believe me?" Her tone was more curious than hurt. She was trying to understand him in a way she never had before. It was almost enough to make him believe…

"You didn't save me," he admitted, and flinched, waiting for her anger. He didn't blame her for it, but he knew that was how it sounded.

Her fingernails dug briefly into his skin, barely enough to sting, and then almost immediately she was rubbing little circles over the places she'd caught him. "I wanted to. So badly, I wanted to save you. I had nightmares for months after, trying to save you."

"Why didn't you?" he asked brokenly.

"You didn't _believe_ me!" she repeated. "Do you know how much that hurt? I gave you everything, and you didn't believe. I thought, if you didn't believe, maybe you were happier saving us, dying for us, than trying to live for me. I died when you did. You know that now, with this entire pining thing. I'm nothing without you."

"Sorry," he said. It was inadequate, but he didn't know what to say.

She shook her head. "I'm trying here, Spike, I really am. But you've got to give me something to work with." She gave a wan smile. "Make a bloke feel wanted and all."

He smiled as she copied his words. "I'm trying, luv."

Her hands suddenly tightened painfully on his head, and she didn't let go. "And then what was this about you coming back, and not telling me?"

"Couldn't, at first," he said. "Came back as a ghost, couldn't touch anything, couldn't leave the building."

"That must have been hell for you." Her hands had softened again, and were now stroking his hair. A purr rumbled in his chest, but he tried to hold it back.

She started, then leaned forward and placed her ear over his dead heart. She ran her fingers through his hair, and the feeling of bliss was too much for him. He was purring for her.

"I like that," she said tenderly.

"You have no idea," he choked out, answering her earlier comment.

"Then if not being able to touch anything was hell for you…" she mused speculatively.

"This," he gasped as she continued to play with his hair. "This is heaven."

She giggled. "With me."

"With you. Only you. I love you, Buffy."

"Then believe me."

And he thought, maybe he was beginning to. With visible reluctance she raised her head to look at him. Her fingers stilled, bringing him back from the place he'd been.

"After you could touch, why didn't you come back? Call, at least? I thought you were _dead_!"

He sighed. "So much time had passed, then. I thought, by now you've moved on. Humans don't grieve for long, not really. I was better off as a dead hero than a living reminder of—" He cut off abruptly.

"What?" she asked gently, directing his face to look at her. "A reminder of what?"

He swallowed hard, bitterness in the back of his throat.

"Rape?" she asked, and he flinched.

"Pain," he rasped. "I caused you so much pain."

"I seem to remember that it was mutual," she said.

"I deserved it, at least. I didn't need that put on you, not then, not ever."

"Spike…" for the first time she released him. He resisted the urge to crawl away. She stopped him by a touch on his hand. Once she was satisfied he wouldn't go, she pulled up her shirt. Automatically he looked away.

"Look at me," she pleaded with him. "Please, look at me."

He did, a brief glance at first, and then a longer look. He frowned, seeing something he'd never noticed before. He'd been carefully _not_ watching her chest when she was bare before him, and now he saw what he'd missed. He touched a faint mark on the upper right of her chest, and another on the lower left.

"They'll fade," she said bluntly, lowering her shirt now that she'd made her point. "Slayer healing and all. It's just with everything else going on, they haven't disappeared yet. It hurts to come back to life, Spike." She met his eyes, conveying a silent message.

He quirked his eyebrow. "Are you saying I was your defibrillator?"

"God, you were _good_ ," she smirked, and they shared a brief smile at some of their memories. She grabbed his hand, sobering. "But yes, I am."

"Doesn't make it right," he pointed out.

"Maybe not, but I forgave you. Have you? Forgiven me or yourself?"

"Yourself, of course, a long time ago. Me? I don't know, luv, that kind of thing…"

"Like a great big bolt to the chest?"

"Don't make light of it!" he snarled.

"I'm not." She placed her hand on his cheek and held him there. "Believe me, I'm not. But what I'm trying to say is, I choose you, more than anything else. I want you do choose me too."

"I have," he assured her.

"Then believe me."

"I think I'm starting to." Against his better judgement than he was not worthy of her, he was. But then his blood never flowed in the direction of his brain. She smiled and sighed in relief.

"Does this mean you're not mad at me anymore?" he asked hopefully. This was the best Buffy tantrum that he'd ever seen, but he was ready for it to be over. His heart felt like it had been raked over hot coals, and he wanted some time for it to heal before they did this again.

"Oh no," her expression turned stern. "I got one more thing that I'm _way_ pissed about." Her voice was almost a whisper by the end, but for the first time, her eyes actually looked angry. He began to feel nervous.

"What's that then?" he tried for flippant. Her expression turned furious, but with an effort she kept her voice calm. She was trying, he realized. For him, she was trying not to let this devolve into a shouting match where nothing got resolved. But this last bit was really getting to her, whatever it was.

"I've been reading up more on this pining thing, since Giles explained it to me."

"Ah. That," he said uncomfortably. He was hoping this was one crime of which he was relatively innocent. It wasn't his choice that caused her to pine; it was hers. She could hardly blame him for that, could she?

"Yes, _that_!" she snapped. "Now let me get this right, when demons love each other, or a Slayer and a demon or vampire, since I'm apparently demon enough to qualify, it makes this bond between them."

"Uh, yes," he said cautiously.

"And when they are separated from each other, they start to pine. They get weaker, lose their powers, don't feel like living anymore. It's pretty much a permanent bond."

"For the most part," he hedged, "But if they agree to a mutual separation, it lessens the affects, and the bond will fade in time."

"I don't want this to fade. I will _never_ be okay if you're away from me. Do you get that?"

"Buffy, I'm sorry I stayed away, if I had known how it would affect you I wouldn't have done it—"

"I'm not talking about me," she waved her hand dismissively. "What happened to me was my own fault, I get that. I chose you, you didn't believe, and we've already been over the whole death thing. No, my point is, the pining is mutual."

He nodded, not sure what she was getting at.

"You idiot!" she burst out for the first time that night. She hit him, but it was his shoulder instead of his face and only enough to rock him back a couple inches, so he knew she hadn't done it to hurt him. She jumped off the bed and strode to the other side of the room, which was admittedly was only about six feet away. She stood facing away from him, her arms holding herself, shoulders hunched.

He got up and approached her slowly. She didn't move. He put his hands on her arms. She leaned back against him. He rested his chin on her shoulder.

"I don't understand," he sighed, rubbing her arms.

"You idiot," she repeated, without venom this time. She turned in his arms and hugged him. She nuzzled her face into his shirt. "You were going to die," her voice broke. "Do you know what would happen to me if you died?"

"I know," he said. "I saw it. You're still getting better from it."

She shook her head. "No, I don't mean that. I mean… I mourned you, Spike. I was devastated that you were gone. I've never felt that kind of pain before. What would have happened if you really died again? I'd never see you again." She was shaking, fisting her hands in the back of his shirt. A feeling of warmth began to spread through him, because suddenly, he understood.

He bent his head and began kissing the top of her head. "Buffy," he murmured between words, "Slayer, luv."

She tilted her face up, and he kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, everywhere he could reach.

"Spike?" she asked hazily, eyes closed as she leaned into him and basked in his attention.

"You love me," he said against her skin, wonder making him feel light as air, Buffy keeping him anchored.

"I do," she insisted, then paused as she realized what he'd said. She looked up at him, touching his face. "You believe me." Her entire expression lit up. That was what she was trying to tell him. If he had died from the pining, she would suffer. Not from the pining, not because her Slayer side had chosen him. Because she, Buffy, had chosen him. Because she loved him, and it would hurt her if anything happened to him.

"I believe you," he said. "I love you so much, Buffy."

"I love you," she repeated it over and over, running her hands over his chest and head. It was his turn to bask, and he started purring again.

She giggled. "I love it when you do that."

Without warning he pulled her hard against him, and gave her the first proper kiss they'd shared since coming together.

"Um," she said breathlessly, as he continued to nibble along her jaw. "I love that too."

With a growl, he picked her up and carried her to bed.

They didn't sleep together. After a few deep kisses, they pulled back and simple cuddled together. They'd done the sex before, but holding each other tenderly was something they'd barely begun to explore back in Sunnydale. It was good to take things slow for once. This time they were building a life together, not merely scratching an itch or trying to feel again.


	5. In Which Spike and Buffy Get Married

**A/N: Happy September! I tried to post yesterday, but had login issues... Anyway, this is the last part of the story! I enjoyed writing it, and I hope everyone enjoyed the journey to get here as much as I did.**

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 **Part 5: In Which Spike and Buffy Get Married (And Have a Long Bloody Time)**

About a week later, they came back to their room after a night sparring session. Spike had his arm slung over her shoulders, and they were chuckling as they recounted the good points of their sparring, but as they approached the room, Buffy fell silent. He could feel her anxiety. He tried asking about it, but she didn't answer. Once in their room, she directed him to sit on the bed while she paced nervously.

"What is it, luv?" he asked.

"I have a couple things of yours," she suddenly announced. "I've had them since Sunnydale, and I'm ready to give them back to you. But I want one of them back. But only if you want to give it back. I don't want to pressure you into anything you don't want." She was working herself into a frenzy.

"Easy now," he cautioned her. "Whatever is mine you can have if you want it that bad."

"No!" she exclaimed. "It isn't like that. You have to give it to me."

She took a deep breath and nodded, clearly steeling herself. She went to the drawer in her vanity that he avoided because of all the vampire unfriendly equipment there. When she came back, each fist was clenched. Whatever she had of his, neither was very large. She stood between his knees, but she didn't open her hands right away. She took several more breaths, so tense he could feel her muscles quivering.

Finally, she brought her hands together and opened them up. He started at the two items, suddenly understanding her nerves. He felt them himself, because if he wasn't much mistaken, he had just received a marriage proposal. He picked up his lighter and his skull ring. He flicked on the lighter out of habit. The flame that came out was bright and cheerful. For a moment he wanted a cigarette, but it was easy to push the desire aside. For a vampire, it was a habit, not an addiction, and he wasn't about to do anything to endanger his Slayer's lungs with second-hand smoke. Especially when it looked like she was inviting him to stay around for a long, long time.

The lighter slipped into his pocket, and he studied the skull ring. He remembered the last time he'd seen it, about four years ago during a spell gone wrong. Well, wrong back then, but somehow incredibly right at this moment. He'd wondered where the ring had gone to after that spell, but hadn't been able to ask for it without bringing up that incident. Now he was glad he hadn't asked.

He stood from the bed, Buffy backing up to give him room. He took her left hand in his. It trembled, but her fingers clutched his. He could hear her breath shaking in and out, feel her pulse racing. If his heart could beat it would have matched hers. Slowly, he knelt on one knee before her. He met her eyes for a long moment, making sure he'd read her right, that this was what she wanted. He saw nothing but anticipation and love in her gaze, so he looked back at their hands and continued.

He stretched out her fingers, taking the ring and putting it on her index finger to the first joint. The vows were rusty in his head, but he still remembered them.

"This ring I give thee as a token of my love and devotion to thee."

He moved the ring to the first joint of her middle finger.

"I pledge to thee all that I am and all that I will ever be as thine."

He moved it to the first joint of her ring finger.

"With this ring, I thee wed and join my life to thine."

He slid it fully onto her finger. Only then did he stand and look at her again. "Is that okay?" he asked nervously.

"It was perfect," she flung her arms around him and kissed him soundly. "It's all I ever wanted," she whispered when she came up for air.

"Are you sure?" he asked, "'Cos if you want more of a ceremony, I'm willing to do that too—"

She silenced him with another kiss. "No," she said when they parted again. "This is enough for me." She gave him another kiss, sweet and lingering. When she pulled back, she tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck to him. He saw the scars left by the Master, Angel, and Dracula. He pressed his lips to them; she shivered and leaned closer to him.

"Please," she said, her throat vibrating with her words. He started to pull back, but she laced her fingers behind his head and held him to her.

"I want this," she insisted. "You swore yourself to me, and I want to do this for you."

Maybe he should have protested more, but he couldn't find it in his will to resist her. He slipped into demon face and bit into her neck. She gasped and arched into him. He took a couple sips, Slayer ambrosia flooding into his mouth. It was better than anything he'd tasted before, even the first Slayer he killed. That one had tasted of death and defeat, but Buffy, she tasted of love and acceptance. He became aware of her pushing at him. He withdrew from her and laved the small wound shut with his tongue. He released her, not knowing why she'd pushed him away. Had she changed her mind?

She seized his wrist and brought it to her mouth. Her blunt teeth caused pain when she nipped into him, but he groaned in ecstasy when he realized what she was doing. She drew on his blood, only a few drops, but enough to make all the difference in the world to him. They were already bonded, as evidenced by the pining, but the exchange of blood made it deeper and stronger. He kissed her fervently as he pushed her backwards, both of them stumbling into her vanity. He fumbled into the drawer she'd left open, singed his fingers on a cross, and pulled out a vial of holy water. He splashed it liberally onto his wrist, biting back a shout of pain.

"Spike!" Buffy cried out, slapping the holy water away from him. "What are you doing?"

"Cauterizing," he gritted out. "Want that one to leave a scar."

Sure enough, under his sizzling flesh, Buffy's bite mark had closed over into a prominent scar. He couldn't be more proud of it.

"Idiot," she muttered, pulling him into the bathroom to cleanse the last of the holy water from his skin. He let her take care of him, nuzzling her hair the entire time.

"Don't do that next time," she grumbled at him, but she put her arms around him once she was finished. They kissed tenderly, taking the time to explore each other. They ended up on the bed again. When it came to the point that they would normally stop, they looked at each other for a long moment, silently asking what the other wanted. This time, they didn't stop. They were already bound together as much as possible without sharing the same skin. There was nothing left between them.

They consummated their union that night, and in the morning, Buffy held Spike while she showered him with warmth and compassion he'd never felt before. It wasn't merely the physical. It was knowing he was accepted, that she loved him, that she wasn't going to push him away or punish him for loving her. Finally, they were together as they were meant to be.

Buffy asked if he wanted a ring himself. He tried to pretend he was fine either way, but his old human soul longed for more than a scar to commemorate their bond. She saw through him, and gave him one more kiss before bidding him to stay in bed while she went out. He didn't have much to do given that it was daytime, and tried not to fidget too bad while he waited for her to return. He found a pad of paper and a pen, and began to amuse himself by scribbling down partial lines of poetry and prose, trying to capture the peace in his heart on paper.

He looked up when she came in an hour later. He was sprawled in her recliner, and without hesitation she sat in his lap and made herself comfortable. After a very thorough hello kiss, she held out a small bag to him. Inside it was a black box, the perfect size for a ring.

"Why Slayer, I think you're asking me to marry you," he smirked.

"We already are, dolt," she answered fondly, and covered his hand with hers when he would have opened the box. "I saw this a few months ago," she explained. "Before I knew you were alive. I looked at it, and I thought it would be perfect for you. I wanted it then, but it was too painful, knowing that you'd never wear it. Now that we're together, I finally have a reason to give it to you. I had them make a little alteration at the store, and well, look at it." She removed her hand.

Now thoroughly curious as to what Buffy thought was an appropriate wedding ring for a vampire, he opened the box and peered inside. He worked his throat when he saw it, and then chuckled. "Reckon you got me dead to rights, luv," he said, pulling it out. It was a thick silver ring, satisfyingly heavy in his hand. The outside was inscribed with a skull and bones motif that circled the band. Bright marks on the surface showed the fresh alterations that would eventually dull in time. She had added fangs to the skulls. He moved to put it on, but she took it from his hand.

Holding his fingers in hers, she repeated the same vows he had made to her the day before, and slid it firmly into place. It was a perfect fit. He hadn't thought one piece of jewelry would make that much of a difference to him, but it did. He kissed her helplessly, pausing only to admire his ring.

She held her hand over his. "Now we match," she said pertly, laughing at the skull rings superimposed over each other.

"That we do," he agreed proudly, but felt compelled to offer, "If you don't like that big clunky ring, I can get you another."

"Don't you dare!" she fisted her hand, making it impossible to get the ring off her finger. "This is mine." Then she softened. "But if you want, the place where I got your ring does custom jobs. You can get me a chain to wear your ring around my neck, because it is a little large to wear when I'm fighting. You can get a smaller ring to match yours."

"Hmm," he agreed, "With stakes instead of bones behind the skulls."

"Make it one stake, and one railroad spike. I'd wear that."

He laughed, ridiculously happy at that moment.

There was very little fanfare from the Scoobies when they found out Buffy and Spike were together. It happened the next night. Xander was due to fly out the following day, so they had arranged to have dinner together before he left. It was held at a local club that was not entirely unlike the Bronze. The atmosphere was already half-familiar to them, and it was good to get off the Council campus for once. It was held after dark on purpose, so Spike could come.

He and Buffy arrived separately. She decided to shower and change before going to dinner, and had banished him on the grounds that he was far too likely to distract her and make them late. He agreed heartily with her statement, but she still told him to go. He found the club to be very crowded, but managed to save a table for the group. Dawn, Willow and Xander trickled in and joined him. He got into a good natured argument with Xander over the merits of onion blossoms versus onion rings, with an occasional addition from Dawn, while Willow pretended to be above it all.

Buffy arrived a few minutes later, and even though there was a chair for her—Spike practically had to threaten the bouncers to keep it—she plopped down into his lap. The argument was effectively halted by the enthusiastic kiss she gave him. It was more than a happy-to-see-you kiss he realized as soon as her lips touched his. It was _possessive_. She was making a statement, and even though he appreciated it, he couldn't help but to tense under her. Historically the Scoobies had never been fond of him, especially when it came to his feelings for Buffy. It had gotten better recently, but she was now flaunting their status in front of her friends. It seemed she was _begging_ them to make an issue of it.

They parted after an indecently long time. Both of them were panting as she leaned her forehead on his, her hands absently kneading his shoulder, his hands securing her waist.

"So, Buff," Xander began with aplomb, "Have something you'd like to tell us?"

Spike braced himself for the fallout.

Buffy twisted to glance at her friends, their faces a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. "Not really," she shrugged. "Oh, except that it's none of your business, you have nothing to say about it, and Spike is _mine_." She grabbed his left hand with hers, and displayed their matching rings, giving each of the Scoobies a hard look. There was silence for a few minutes as no one dared to challenge Buffy. He had to admit, she had quite effectively cut off their protests before they began. Dawn was the first one to speak.

"Can I say something?" she asked.

"At your own risk," Buffy warned.

Suddenly Dawn squealed at a volume that made Spike wince, and almost leapt across the table to reach them. She gave both of them a hug and kiss on the cheek.

"I'm so happy for you!" she exclaimed, taking her seat again.

That seemed to thaw the ice, and Willow nodded. "Yeah, you guys deserve it," she said. "Good for you."

Spike eyed Xander warily, but he was also smiling.

"Ditto," he said with a small wave.

Spike began to relax at last. "Better watch out, Whelp, I might be starting to grow on you," he drawled.

"Like fungus," Xander agreed.

"Blossoms are still better."

"No way. All the best foods are round. Onion rings, donuts, pizza, pies, those calamari things—"

"Eww, Xander you eat those?" Dawn exclaimed in horror.

"Right tasty they are, Niblet," Spike said, while she shuddered theatrically.

Xander shot her an offended look. "I can't eat calamari but you put anchovies on pizza?"

"That's completely different!"

"Is not!"

"Spike, help me."

"Sorry mate, got to agree with the Bit on this one."

They fell to bickering again. Buffy and Willow exchanged a look, and began to laugh. Spike paused just to hear Buffy laugh, carefree and happy. He thought it was the best sound in the world.

Willow left a week after Xander. They went out to the club again, but it already wasn't the same without Xander. Spike would never admit it, but he missed the man, a little. Then it was simply Dawn, Buffy and Giles left at the Council campus. The older man hadn't been part of the big relationship reveal, but the first time he saw Spike and Buffy together, he knew. Buffy gave him a hard look, and that was all that was needed. He didn't even give one "Good Lord," or polish his glasses. In fact, it was Giles who discovered something rather vital to their relationship.

A few weeks had passed since Willow left. Buffy had resumed her teaching at last, with Spike as a partner. They were walking across campus to their class when Giles called out to them. He was walking toward them with a black woman in tow.

"New Slayer," Spike commented under his breath. Buffy automatically shifted so her body was between the new Slayer and his vulnerable heart. Sometimes the new arrivals didn't take well to finding out a vampire was one of their teachers. While Spike felt himself in no danger from the untrained Slayers, he appreciated the way she stepped up for him. She protected him from being staked, and he shielded her back. It worked out well for them.

"Buffy, there's something I wanted to talk to you and Spike about," Giles said as he caught up to them.

"Will it take long, we have class in a few minutes," Buffy said, watching the new Slayer. The black woman took in Spike's appearance and his proximity to Buffy. He moved his hand to his Slayer's arm. The woman blinked, but seemed to take it in stride. Both Buffy and Spike relaxed minutely.

"Not too long, but you should know about Margaret here," he introduced the black Slayer.

"Just call me Margie, dears," she said in a southern drawl that sounded like it should belong to a grandmother instead of a young woman Buffy's age.

"Nice to meet you, pet," Spike said, followed by Buffy.

"Now what's this about?" Buffy asked Giles.

"I've been doing more research about Slayers, specifically about how they're made and their lifespans. As you know, Slayers are basically imbued with the essence of a demon, somewhat similar to vampires, absent the bloodlust, the full transformation into a demon, the loss of soul, and uh, complete loss of mores leading to the vampire being evil—"

Spike snorted, "Yeah, save for those, Watcher."

"Uh, I may have been able to phrase that better, yes. But the point is, Buffy, when you were ill, your Slayer essence shut down, leading to the rapid aging of your body. But when it was returned—"

"Thanks to Spike," Buffy interrupted.

"Yes, thank you, Spike," Giles agreed absently, too excited to be annoyed. "What I'm trying to say is that your Slayer healing reversed your aging process, which led me to speculate about a Slayer's lifespan. I had only suppositions, and ultimately time will tell, but then I met Margaret, who has gone a long way toward confirming my conjecture." He gestured grandly to the black Slayer. Buffy stared blankly at her Watcher, but Spike eyed Margie. There was something about her…

"Giles. English please?" Buffy asked impatiently.

"Buffy," Giles sighed. "Ask her how old she is."

"Well, that's not very polite," she complained.

Margie grinned. "Oh no, I don't mind dearie. When you get to my age, you get quite proud when someone asks you that."

Spike's eyes widened. His hand tightened on Buffy's arm. He understood what Giles had been trying to say. "Ask her, luv," he urged. If it was possible…

"Um, how old are you?" Buffy asked awkwardly.

"Ninety-three last month," Margie declared without hesitation.

Buffy's mouth dropped open. "H-how?"

"It's what the Watcher was saying," Spike murmured, too stunned to take it in. "You're Slayer side acts like a vampire's demon. It heals you, keeps you from aging."

"Past the mid-twenties, yes," Giles agreed. "Historically Slayers have had short lives, so there never has been a study on Slayer aging. But with Potentials all over the world turned into full Slayers, it was inevitable that some of them would be older, past the age where normally they would be Called. In the case of those who are older, their Slayer side had been healing their bodies of everything. Diseases, ones that would normally be incurable, and even reversing the process of aging."

Buffy was still too stunned to speak, but Spike wasn't.

"How long, Rupert?" he demanded hoarsely. "How long is she going to live?" How long was he going to have her? He'd been picturing life fifty or sixty years from now, and having to lay his Slayer in the ground again. But if Giles was right…

The Watcher removed his glasses. "I don't rightly know," he said softly. "But based on this," he gestured at Margie, and smiled. "I imagine a long time."

Margie grinned cheekily. "You're welcome, dears. Come talk to me whenever, I'll be around."

With that, Giles and the other Slayer left. Buffy turned to face Spike. He put his hands on her shoulders, and she held his waist. They stared at each other, trying to fully comprehend the information.

"A long time, luv," he said quietly. "A long bloody time." A bubbling sensation was rising inside him, and he let it out in a shout of laughter. Without warning he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, racing back to their room.

"Spike!" she gasped in surprise. "We have class!"

"Not tonight," he yelled. "Class is canceled! We have a long bloody time, and we're starting now!"

And finally, she joined him in laughter.


End file.
